Unexpected Relations
by percy81511
Summary: Marilyn Jackson is a normal girl- or so she thought. All of a sudden, things are not what they seem, and her supposed heritage has her wondering who is really telling the truth. Set approximately twenty years after the House of Hades, rotating between demigods of the next generation, this provides an insightful view into the world of Percy Jackson. I DO NOT OWN PERCY JACKSON.
1. Chapter 1: Fathers and Frustrations

Chapter One

MARILYN'S POV

**I have come to a conclusion.**

It's a very enlightening feeling, coming to a conclusion. It feels as if the weight of the world has just been plucked from your shoulders, leaving you gasping in relief. Not quite so overly dramatic as that, of course, but still enlightening, nevertheless.

Coming to a conclusion is a skill. One must evaluate all the facts, think about plausible evidence clearly and calmly without emotion, and then weigh in the occasional bout of emotion to add vigor and passion to your conclusion. I must say I am a bit guilty of adding more emotion than necessary, but then again, I was never one for rationality. It is much easier when you have the red haze of anger to obscure you from the verisimilitude of a situation.

Part of making a conclusion is being honest with oneself, and, after giving it much thought (twelve hours, to be precise, as I spent all night thinking) I am very certain that I may have actually achieved rationality this time. Perhaps I was not the most straightforward, or logical, but in my brain overridden with pent-up emotion, I think I achieved rationality assuming my position on the matter.

So. Yes. I think I have come to a conclusion, indeed.

I could, of course, ramble on for a while longer with all the thought processes that ran through my demented, deranged brain in serious need of medical help, but then of course that would be very tedious and most likely take another twelve hours. I do have things to do- surprisingly enough.

So. As I see it, my conclusion stands thus far-

I, Marilyn Jackson, well and truly hate my father.

This is a conclusion that has come to me over time. And, regardless of what my inane trains of thought have led some to believe, I am not some whiny girl protesting her father prohibiting her from watching television until three a.m. I will admit to being whiny, but I'm not about this situation.

It's not as if I haven't _tried, _either. I have. Really. I try to smile into his cold eyes overtaken by some hardship I know nothing about. I try to crack jokes at our dinners thick with awkward conversation; try to percolate some degree of humor into the situation.

The only thing I get from him is frowns.

Grimaces and dismay at me. Glaring at me sharply, cracking his crab with the utensils with vehemence. I honestly don't know what I've done to cause his hatred for me. It's simply not fair.

When I ask my gran about it (she did raise the boy, after all) she just shakes her head sadly. She's so unlike Father- so full of life, happiness, and just a general aura of energy. Her blue eyes have permanent crinkles around them from the countless times a smile has breached her lips.

Gran is really my only family, now that I think about it. Whenever Father goes away for some odd business meeting, the instant answer is 'go to Gran's house'. Gramps is excellent, too. Though he's not Father's dad (not hard to see why not, with all that kindness radiating off of him) he treats me like a grandchild by relation.

The sick thing is, I do believe I may have reached another conclusion.

Conclusion #2: I like my grandparents more than my immediate family.

Conclusion #3: When you would much rather spend time with your extended family that you know and love far better than your Father, you know you have a problem.

I'm going to stop with the conclusions now. They're giving me a headache and I really don't appreciate the sadistic turn they've taken.

As my brain goes on this torrential rain of thoughts, I stare at my ceiling mindlessly until a knock comes at my door.

"Hmm?" I mumble, sitting up straight.

"Miss Jackson, your family is waiting in the parlor. Are you ready, or shall I tell them you aren't ready?" I groan and curse under my breath as I lean my head against the wall. Crap. Just lovely, really. I completely forgot that today was going-out day.

I suppose it's a tradition of sorts, going-out day. Ever since I was around five years old, Gran got into a rather heated argument with Father. I still remember eavesdropping, crouched into the dumbwaiter in our three-story brick colonial.

_"Honestly, Percy. I understand you're hurting, but it's been three years, for gods' sakes," Gran said heatedly._

_ "You don't understand!" Father shouted. "You don't get _any _of it!"_

_ "Or do I," Gran said coolly. "From my understanding, I raised you alone for a very long period of time. You don't even manage to take Mari out once a month."_

_ "You knew he was still alive, Mom." Father's voice broke. "Anna- she's gone. Forever."_

_ "That does not change the fact that there is a girl in this house, Perseus Jackson!" There was a long pause. "I don't think that Mari has ever even been to the museum. She's a good girl, Perce. Full of energy. Give her a chance."_

_ "Fine! You say I can't even take her out once per month?" Father challenged, his voice disputatious. "I can. Just you see."_

_ "I will," Gran replied, her voice full of challenge._

Thus began the Jackson going-out days.

Gran, Gramps, Father and I all pile into Gramps's old BMW. Which, by the way, is a very cool car. Very vintage, exceptionally awesome. Fantastic.

My nursemaid, Jenny, waits for me. I sigh exasperatedly. "I forgot, sorry. How- how bad is-" I ventured, afraid to say the word 'Father'.

Jenny chuckles. "He looks like he might chop off someone's head today, Miss Jackson."

I grimace. "Just- give me a moment, please."

I scramble quickly. Ah, here's the pair of jeans from Friday. I barely wore them for the whole day, anyway. My t-shirt from my pajamas- yes, that'll do. It's not like Father cares about my appearance. Where are my Nikes? Ah, here they are.

That's about how my dressing went.

I put my hair up in a sloppily made bun, cursing my blonde curls for the millionth time. Honestly. I really don't know where I get this reckless hair; though I think it's from my mom's side- Father never said. I always look at his somewhat tame dark hair and sigh wistfully. If only, if only.

I race down the stairs, a bundle of ungraceful limbs. I curse loudly and vehemently, knowing my grandparents would be appalled.

"_Marilyn Jackson_!"

Sometimes I surprise myself.

I turn towards Gran with a wince in my face. The evidence of a stream of very nasty words is written all over my face, I know, and I grin sheepishly, trying unsuccessfully to tame my hair.

"Yes, Gran?" I ask sweetly.

"Language, young lady!" she reprimands, and I sigh, properly scolded. Honestly. I'm not _that _bad. Besides the fact, of course, that I pick up the swears from her son.

"Sorry, Gran, really," I mumble, ripping my hair out of its unorthodox ponytail and attempting for the tenth time to tame it.

After a while of watching me struggle, Gran sighs. "Stop, Lynnie. Please. You're destroying that lovely head of hair that you have."

I quirk my mouth in distaste. "The hair may be lovely, but it hates me. I mean it, Gran, I really do. It has it out for me. I'm pretty sure it's leading a conspiracy with my growth." I'm only five feet. And I'm also in eighth grade. I don't want to be a midget, really, I don't. It's just the conspiracy of my body parts.

Gran just sighs. "Alright, drama queen."

"I mean it!" I pronounce indignantly. "My hair has it out for me! It is killing me, slowly but surely, and you're standing there- _OW, Gran, that HURT!_ - brushing the living life out of it, only making it angrier!"

Gran stops, turning to face me. Her eyes hold a bemused expression. "Marilyn."

I scowl. "Please don't call me that, Gran. I really hate the name."

"Lynnie, then," she dismisses with a wave of her hand.

"What?"

"You're screaming at your grandmother about your hair, who apparently has a conspiracy with your height."

Oh.

Um.

You see-

-Nope. Not going to try and explain that mess.

I really question my mental sanity sometimes.

"Sorry, Gran," I say sheepishly.

Gran just smiles. "You're so much like her, sometimes."

"Who?" I query, flabbergasted.

My grandmother gets a faraway look in her eye. "No one."

"Gran," I protest.

"Enough of that," she smiled, nearly ripping out my whole hair with the brush. Evil killing machines, brushes. "We're taking you into Boston today."

Ah, the live of Marilyn Jackson. Filled with evil hair (/brushes), sadistic grandmothers, wisecracking grandfathers, and, of course, thy hatred's name is father.

Hmm.

Rather busy, isn't it?

WILL'S POV

**Bash. Bash. Bash.**

This is the sound my head makes as it collides painfully with the wall.

Bash. Bash. Bash.

"_William Grace, stop banging your head on your wall this very instant!"_

Thanks, Mom. Love you too. Mean it.

I continue to bang my head against the wall anyway. My life is an unpleasant dilemma of various paradoxes, none of which are even remotely pleasant. With my parent's new 'startling' revelation, I must admit I am thoroughly incandescent.

"Omigod, just stop it, Willie! You're being _so _annoying!" My younger sister, Janie, called from her room.

I disregarded her as well. All three of my siblings could come in and bellow at me to stop being a bitch, but that didn't mean I was going to comply. Jason was away on a business trip, leaving Piper Grace to deal with four children with the aid of a nanny. Who, at present, was on her day off. You could say many things about this situation, ranging from full veracity to complete falseness imagined by only Piper herself. For example, if one wanted to lie, you could say that Piper was handling it exceptionally well.

But, of course, if one were to actually speak the verity of the situation, you would indeed find that Piper Grace was doing a horrible job with Caroline, William, Janie, and Reid Grace. Disastrous, catastrophic- those words were closer to the verisimilitude.

"_Gods, William Lucas Grace, stop it this very instant or I am CALLING YOUR FATHER!_" Piper screamed from down in the kitchen, where she was trying to instruct their new cook on mac n' cheese, a food that children would eat (as opposed to Chinese duck. Piper and Jason found it delicious, the children found it distasteful. They were caught trying to sneak potato chips out of the safeguarded kitchen at midnight the evening of the unpalatable meal).

I stopped, considering this. Piper didn't scare me. Second-oldest out of the children in the family, he was outranked only by his sister; Caroline, and she was too absorbed in her iPod to really notice much of anything. A typical sophomore, actually. My younger sister, Janie, was a brat in all ways possible- the third grade teachers actually voiced a complaint about her wisecracks in the middle of class. And Reid, youngest, still a kindergartener- well. He was innocent yet.

I was in eighth grade, tall and brown haired, with that Native American look from my mother. Though I looked most like Piper, my personality was somewhere in the middle. Janie joked that I had an identity crisis.

The sad part is, it was actually true.

Though Piper didn't scare me, as I had the proper strapping conduct of any boy my age, Jason certainly did. Though Jason Grace was the perfect image of a blonde, joking, kind father, he had a dark side that showed when his children went to the dark side. Darkness fought with darkness. And, needless to say, Jason Grace won twenty times out of ten.

I groaned, stopping. "_FINE_!" I shouted, punching his wall.

I immediately groaned in pain. "Ow, ow, shit, shit, _owww_…" I chanted, looking at his drywall with chagrin. Shit. Naturally.

There lay a jagged hole in his wall. My mom was going to kill me.

I looked at my knuckles with a sort of regret, seeing the faint crimson splurge up. A faint whiteness of exposed bone disgusted him, and I resisted the urge to retch. Danger, Will Robinson. Work on calmness.

Needless to say, I failed when Carrie finally decided to take her stupid head out of her music.

"_What the _hell?" she shrieked, storming into my room. Her bright kaleidoscope eyes were livid, and her normally calm blonde hair flowed out all around her. "William, there is a shitting _dent _in my wall!" Her eyes looked to my knuckle, and her expression changed from irritation to concern. "Oh, my gods, Will, what did you do to your hand?"

I averted my eyes. Leave it to Carrie to master hormones in the mood swing of all mood swings.

Comprehension flooded her face as Caroline took in the register of the broken wall and my crushed bones.

"You punched the wall," she said flatly.

I scratched the back of my neck. Well, yes, but I preferred to think of it as the wall was a target, and I punched. Probably not the best target in retrospective, but still a target, nevertheless.

"You punched the wall," Caroline echoed dubiously.

Again, I kept my gaze riveted on the floor. I know I punched the wall. It's just- you see- I had this pent up anger, and then my mother decided to not let me use my head to bang against the wall. So, I improvised. With my hand. Again, was it the most intelligent idea? Absolutely not.

"You _punched _the _wall_," Carrie said again, running a hand through her long, straight, white-blonde hair.

"Yes, Caroline, I punched the wall," I said exasperatedly, sucking my knuckles. Surprisingly enough, punching a wall really hurt.

Caroline turned an appraising look to me, a smirk on her face. "You do realize we're trying to _sell _the house, not keep it, right?"

"Of course I do," I snapped. "I wasn't planning on running my hand through the wall, for gods' sakes!"

Carrie just grinned, and then turned her eyes down to my hand. She sighed. "C'mon. Mom can heal it."

"She's gonna kill me, Carrie," I complained.

"Maybe you should've thought of that before you ran your hand through the wall." Seeing my look of outrage, words on my tongue, she stopped me. "Whether it was planned or not, Willie, you did it anyway."

Technicalities, all of it. Minor technicalities.

"C'mon," Caroline said, grabbing my unharmed wrist. "Mom will be really mad, but you can expect that anyway. I think Reid's driving her crazy. He's down there trying to make chocolate-chip cookies." She shook her head ruefully. "Five-year olds, raw eggs, sugar, and cookie-dough-" she shuddered- "not a good mix. Not at all a good mix."

"Then let's refrain from going down there, yeah?" I suggested, but Caroline ignored me, hauling me along as if I were a pack pony. Yes, I said it. A _pack pony._ William Grace was not a pack pony.

At least, I hope not.

Carrie pulled me down the stairs, ignoring my fruitless protests of indignation and incredulity.

Piper was sitting in our huge kitchen with Reid, flour all over her face and clothes. The situation was almost comical, because Reid actually had an egg all over the front of his shirt.

Now, a word about our house- just addressed to all the people who don't know the awesomeness of it.

We're not poor, and we're not middle-class, either. In fact, you could say we're rather clear of the rich side. All our houses (I think we've had about fourteen with transfers since I've been born) have been huge monstrosities. This is no exception.

It's the sort of really old, beautiful, gilded house that you could find secret stairwells in. It has this really nice musty smell from books and such, and we each have our own suite. We have a nanny, a housemaid, and a chef. Our kitchen is huge, we have a parlor and even a ballroom (granted, it's on the small size, nothing like in castles or anything, but it's still a respectable size- Jason and Piper host business parties in there).

This is my favorite house and neighborhood, as we live in Lincoln Park, right by Chicago. It's really wonderful, really pretty, and has the best school and parks of any place we've lived in.

Our kitchen, to put it straight, is huge, I'm not going to deny the fact. Top-grade stainless steel, cement/granite countertops, top-of-the-line everything.

And right now, it's a huge, disgusting mess.

Flour and sugar is everywhere, spread in all directions. Eggs run down the front of my little brother's shirt, and my mom is shouting. Bertha, our cook, is screaming, as the Kitchen Aid® mixing machine is whirring away, splattering goop that slightly resembles cookie dough all over the walls. Kiki, our housemaid, is running around in circles frantically, and my mom is trying to charmspeak them all.

Because of her obvious distress, it's clearly not working well.

Carrie and I couldn't help it. Really, we tried. Sort of.

We fell onto the floor, laughing.

I mean _collapsed _in howling fits. We were guffawing so loud, they all stopped to look at us in our chortling seizures. Our stomachs ached from how much we laughed, and when Piper stood over us, her hair dusted with flour, we just started sniggering even louder.

When we finally managed to stop, Piper raised an eyebrow at us.

"Are you quite done?" she asked, a grin twitching at the corners of her lips.

I nodded, heaving. We still giggled manically.

Piper crossed her arms, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Thank you, Mister Will and Miss Caroline, for putting on that lovely show. Why are you down here? I'm assuming it's not to satirize all of us?"

"No," Carrie heaved between gasps of ragged laughter. "It's- it's just- Will- he punched his arm into the wall-"

"You did _what_?" Piper said, eyes widening. She whirled on me. "Really, Will?"

I nodded, instantly sobering. I rubbed my hand sorely. "I'm sorry, Mom. Really. I can explain, it's just- I was so angry, and then…" I gestured helplessly.

Piper sighed. "It's fine, Will. Come here."

I followed her to where Kiki was waiting with a roll of bandages. Piper wrapped my fingers meticulously, rubbing the top of my head. I sighed in relief, looking at the scratches.

"Better?" Piper asked with a smile.

"Much, thanks," I said with a lopsided grin.

"Oh, and Will? One more thing?"

"Yeah?" I queried earnestly.

Piper grinned. "I hope you know this is coming out of your allowance."

Now it was everyone else's turn to laugh.

A/N: End of chapter one. I hope you enjoyed it! Please comment- I want to know what I messed up on. Anything from grammatical errors to canon mistakes or writing techniques is appreciated. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2: Hatred and Homecomings

A/N: I just want to say thanks for following the story and the helpful reviewers! Your reviews are appreciated greatly!

Here we go with Chapter Two…

Chapter Two

MARILYN'S POV

**I groan.**

I flop onto my bed, exhausted. I had just gotten back from Boston, and I really didn't appreciate the aching in the soles of my feet. They were blistered and beaten, and heavily protested the amount of walking we had done in downtown Boston.

It wasn't even worth it, either. Sometimes Father makes an effort to be nice to me. On really good days, I catch this glint in his eye, this boyish grin that emerges. Gran always smiles even more extensively than usual, and I catch myself wondering if that's what my dad was like, before I was born. I wonder if I was the cause of all that sorrow- until I push the thought away. Regardless or not if I was, I'm here to stay.

I swallow.

I remember the day clearly, the sunlight streaming through the thin, wispy clouds that hung precariously in the cerulean sky. Recalling Gramps' silly jokes and Gran's huge bouts of uncontrolled laughter, I smile. Father, naturally, was nothing but frowns.

I didn't care.

I didn't, I didn't, I didn't.

I really didn't.

We had walked everywhere imaginable. We ate lunch at some pizza restaurant, and I ordered mine just as I liked it- salted, with fig jam, bruschetta, and a bit of herbs. It sounds disgusting, and I know that there are people whose faces will contort in expressions of disgust, but it's actually delicious.

Gran took me shopping, as I needed some new clothes. Father just sat down in the provided sofas and such in the shops, making important business calls while I tried on clothes. I must have tested about a thousand outfits (shopping isn't really my thing) and eventually I ended up with a soft sweater and dark navy blue jeans. It's far too elegant for my typical every day, but I'd probably wear it to one of my violin recitals or spelling bees. Something of that nature, I suppose.

I wince, rubbing the arch of my foot with my hands. I longed to open a book, to get lost in the world of fantasy, but I simply swallowed hard. I was dyslexic. I could read only special, pre-ordered books with large print and though I was getting better at normal books, it took a long time to read a chapter.

Instead, I pulled out my phone. I could write well enough; though my words were sometimes mismatched. I scrolled down on my Contacts list to where _Reese Winters _lay.

**what's up? **

I left it there and started humming aimlessly, gazing up at my ceiling. I thought back to Reese, and wondered where she was now.

Reese and I had been best friends since I had been living in Quincy, a suburb outside of Boston. She's pretty much the only friend I have, as everyone else is intimidated by my father or me. I'll admit, I don't have the best people skills.

Reese has a way of bringing out the bright spots into the world. Perhaps not the smartest, or the prettiest, she is the funniest person I know. Reese will crack a joke that will leave you gasping for air, which I need every once in a while, especially after dealing with my father for extended periods of time.

She looks like the sort of troublemaker you would expect from any middle school student. Reese has long red hair. And I mean red. It's not from a bottle, either, it's just bright and colorful and amazing. It's super frizzy most days, so she ties it in a ponytail, and I often laugh and joke about birds hiding in the knotted ends of her hair. She has these super clear blue eyes and this smirk that leaves you laughing.

In fact, she's pretty much just a hilarious character.

I smile, thinking of the very first time I had met her. It wasn't ceremonious, or anything extravagant like that. Circle time, way back in preschool. I spilled my apple juice on my pants and as other people laughed and pointed, Reese didn't. She just grinned, handed me her napkin (crusted with cookie crumbs) and simply said, "You wanna clean that up, right?"

Since then, we have literally been BFF's. Best friends forever, for richer or for poorer. My phone buzzed.

_i WAS sleeping. omg, lyn, wat is so important? _㈵2

Only my overactive mind thinking about my father's hatred for me.

**um- nothing much. bored. y does gran keep taking me shopping if i don't want clothes? she needs to tak a hint, yea?**

I couldn't tell Reese the real reason behind my stupid anxiety. As close as she was, I knew she simply wouldn't understand. Reese had the perfect family- kind mother, kind father, younger brother in third grade who got in trouble all the time, and even a golden retriever, all packed into her cozy two-story house. I envied her. My phone vibrated again.

_OK, primadonna. watevs. this was ur 'going out' day, wasnt it? was ur dad a bitch again? i swear, if he was, im onna-_

I rolled my eyes. Yes. Naturally, I was the primadonna.

**RES! LANGUAGE! gran checks this phone, and i already dropped 2 rite in front of her 2day. and yes, my dad was a- ah- y'no- but dont kill him. i dont want my bff arrested for homicide a la mi papa.**

I waited for her reply while I deleted the past few messages. It was true, about Gran checking my phone, and I really didn't want it taken away for the third time this month. A buzz again alerted me.

_just del the mesgs. + it would be soooo worth it to off the guy. even just flip him the bird-_

Oh, my god. She really needed to understand the concept that deleting the messages took _work _and I don't feel great about work. Not at all.

Except for when it had to do with school, and grades, and things that I cared about. Texting Reese? Not so much.

**omg res. ur such a lost cause. i dunno why i even bother w/ u.**

The wait was short this time.

'_cuz u LOVE ME!_

…_rite?_

I grinned, tempted to say no. I relented, and simply texted this back:

**o' course i do, silly! i dunno Y, but i do.**

Reese texted back quickly.

_thats a relief. its probably good u dunno about the whole 'hmm- why do i lik res again?' 'cuz im insane. really._

I rolled my eyes.

**yea, y'are, but thats cool. **

"REESE! DINNER!" Gran yelled from downstairs. I grimaced. Family dinners at my house were somewhat- strained. I was forced to sit and eat whatever concoction Gran made, all the while looking down at my plate, a concentrated expression on my face. I love my grandparents, don't get me wrong- it's just sort of a relief when they leave and stop trying to force Father and me together. We can go back to my routine of pb and j's in my room. Lovely, really. Mean it.

"COMING!" I shouted back, texting Reese quickly.

**brb- dinner w/ devil (aka dad) s'ya. :[**

I sighed, ruffling my hand through my unruly hair. Sometimes I really despised my golden curls, no matter how much Gran liked them. I straighten them usually, just folding them up in a ponytail, but every once in a while I sort of- forget.

I nearly fall down the stairs for the second time that day. I grumble, cursing my ADHD that makes me twitch uncontrollably.

I take a moment and consider something.

Conclusion #4: I am a train wreck.

Seriously. If you looked at my appearance right now, you would see a tiny girl in a wrinkled t-shirt and stained jeans, with slippery socks. You would see that her long, mid-back length blonde hair runs in unruly, disobedient curls in all directions, and that her bright green eyes are looking drowsy.

Yes. I think it's quite fair to say I am a train wreck.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I frown. That's really becoming a habit with me, and I need to stop. My traitorous rat's nest of hair needs no encouragement.

"MARILYN!"

"I'M COMING!" I shout, ticked off. I know, Gran. Having sadistic conclusions over here.

Without further delay, I go to meet the doom of the bane of my existence.

PERCY'S POV

I look up as my daughter enters the room.

She looks so exhausted, I'm almost tempted to smile. I don't. It's not hard, when you see those rebellious blonde curls of hers.

Sally opens her mouth again to call for Marilyn, and then snaps it shut. Thank you, Mom. My ears can only handle so much torture. Your screams aren't good for anyone's mental health, or the little that I have left, at least.

"I'm here, Gran," Marilyn grumbles, rolling her eyes.

Sally smiles and pats her head. "I know, dear. I just wished to eat this dinner while I'm still alive."

Paul grunts a laugh from his seat at my table, slapping down the newspaper. From his grim, ironic expression, I know the manic humor is in the paper, not Sally and Marilyn's squabble.

"News?" I said dryly, making a face at the dinner Sally set out. She was a good cook- with sweets. An excellent baker, as a matter of fact. But a chef? Savory food?

I looked at the greyish mush that slightly resembled oatmeal that she had just slopped onto my plate.

"What is this?" Marilyn asks, voicing my inner thoughts. Sally's face contorts in mock outrage.

"It's mashed potatoes! I don't think it's _that _bad," she grumbles.

"Manners," I say curtly, addressing Marilyn.

She looks down at her plate.

"Manners, Marilyn," I say again, more insistently.

She looks at me, lips pressed together tightly. "I heard you."

"Than apologize to your gran and me for being rude," I say dully, reaching for the salt. Salt is always a lovely choice to drown Sally's pig slop in.

"Sorry, Gran," Marilyn says simply.

I wait, and then raise an eyebrow. "And me, Marilyn, for rude behavior, please."

Marilyn says nothing, but simply reaches for the charred meat that was intended to become steak. Right now it resembles a heap of ashes. I'm not sure I want the carcinogens in my body.

"Marilyn?"

"I don't feel the need to apologize, thanks for asking," she snaps, getting a flair of-

No.

No.

Deep breath.

In, out.

In, out.

"Room," I say quietly. "Now."

Marilyn gets up unapologetically, green eyes livid. It's startling to see my eyes on her when we're so much unalike. She has almost nothing except for my eyes in her, physical or internal.

She storms out of the room, leaving a silent Paul, an irritated Sally, and my own sullen self in the dinner room to fend for ourselves.

After a moment, I turn to Paul. "News?" I repeat.

"Really, Percy?" Sally asks with a sigh. Her blue eyes stare at me.

"What?" I say nonchalantly, feigning surprise.

"You know exactly what, Perseus Jackson."

I shake my head. "Sorry, no."

Sally looks at me sadly. She spoke, her words full of clarity and precision. "Percy, that girl wants a father. Grandparents can only do so much for a preteen."

My gaze hardens. I turn to Paul again. "News, please, Paul."

Paul clears his throat and nods. "Ah- yes. Of course. Just- you know- some- football star taking steroids again. Disastrous things, you know."

"Yes," I muse, looking directly at Sally. Our eyes meet, and I dare her to challenge me, to ask why, to get us into another one of these fights. She averts her eyes.

"Disastrous things, indeed," I murmur quietly.

WILL'S POV

"**Mom, please!"**

"No, William," Piper says, walking towards Janie's room.

"Honestly, though! This is the second time we've moved this year! I haven't even had the chance to make friends," I complain, trying unsuccessfully to persuade her.

"And I'm sure you'll make them much more easily this time," Piper replied. She frowned at Janie's messy room. Things laid everywhere. "Janie! I thought I told you that you had to be finished packing today! The truck comes tomorrow."

Janie rolled her eyes. "I know. Why can't Kiki just pack my stuff?"

Piper sighed. "Honestly, Janice. We've been through this. Kiki and Bertha are both moving with us, and they have their own things to pack. All I ask is that you pack your own room."

"Fine," Janie sighed, obviously disgusted with the prospect. I looked around the explosion that was Janie's room. We all had ADHD, of course, but Janie's was a bit- worse. She literally painted her entire room white. Plain white. Or, Kiki had, anyway. Then Janie had set to decorating.

She paint-balled her entire room.

Multicolored splotches of paint were frozen on the walls, like in a still. Huge posters were tacked up on the wall, of everything from cliché boy-bands to cheap posters she had bought at the school book fair. Janie's room was on the fourth floor, so her ceiling was sloped, and her bay window illuminated her room with bright sunlight.

Clothes were littered all over the floor, in huge, messy heaps. I stepped on an earring and cried out in pain. Janie was a disaster child. A nine-year old tornado, to be sure.

"Mom, not everything's set in stone yet. You could tell Dad to hold his job here a little longer," I suggested, reverting to my original conversation.

Piper sighed. Her eyes looked blue today, a really pale blue. "William, do you honestly think I want to move? I'd really like to have a community, too." She looked down at me. "We can't, Will. We just closed the house in Quincy. You'll just have to hang tight, like the rest of us."

I opened my mouth to argue, but she stopped me. "I know this isn't easy on all of you. I know. I really do. I don't want to leave either." Piper's eyes got a faraway look. "It could be worse, William."

I scoffed. "Thanks, Mom." I shook my head, thoroughly disgusted by her.

Piper sighed and looked back to Janie. They continued arguing, but I ignored them. I was so fricking sick of being transported everywhere. My mom and dad could bitch all they want and look creepily into the distance when we brought up certain things- I assumed it was from their teen demigod years.

I storm downstairs to my room. I hadn't even started packing, though my room was spotless compared to Janie. I had a grey room, plastered with decent bands and athletes. I had a loft bed and a desk, though I never really used it for anything. I had this OCD problem with anything messy. Being in Janie's room for too long can give me huge headaches.

I look at the wall. Kiki had plastered it with some wall adhesive yesterday, and you could hardly tell that there had ever been a hole there. Despite my wrapped knuckles, I had the desire to punch something again.

"GIMME BACK MY TOY, MOMMA!" Reid's voice startled me from my thoughts. Erratic six-year olds can do that to a person.

"Reid Grace! Stop that this instant!" Piper yelled.

Their squabbling continued, and I groaned, banging my head on the wall. Our head chef, Freddie, was back, and though I was no longer in danger of starving, I was still feeling delirious from stress. We were moving. Tomorrow. Sunday. And we were literally going to school on Monday. St. Gabriel was supposedly an excellent school, though I wasn't really looking forward to it.

At all.

"BERTHA!" Piper screams.

I peek my head outside my bedroom door. "Keep it down, will you?" I snap.

Piper crosses her arms. "Attitude, young man."

I opened my mouth to say something when there was a knock on the door, and then the opening and closing of our front door. Piper freezes, her face expectant. Her eyes switch from color to color, going from the original pale blue to a hazel.

I hear our butler, Vance, downstairs. "Good day, sir," he greets cordially. "Your trip was fine, I'm sure?"

Piper's mouth splits into a huge smile, the argument instantly forgotten by all. She gets like that every time Jason comes home. I don't really know why, since Jason is around all the time- I guess it's just nice to know that my parents love each other.

Carrie pokes her head out of her bedroom door, next to mine. "Is Dad home?" she asks, obviously having caught the Father bug.

We hear a pounding on the stairs, and Janie's fleeting form. A few seconds later, we hear expressions of happiness.

"Janie!" I heard Jason's laughs as Janie shrieked. I grinned, despite myself.

There was a certain something to be said when your father comes home, and my mom, Carrie, Reid, and I all felt it. We raced through our elegant, musty house full of brown cardboard boxes littering the hallways.

As we clambered down our curling staircase into our grand foyer, Jason put down a squealing Janie. Janie's eyes looked disappointed, until her father's true reasons behind deserting her were revealed.

"_Jason_!" Piper screamed, throwing herself into his arms. Jason grinned, hugging her tightly. Reid made gagging imitations behind their backs, and I high-fived him. Janie had her nose wrinkled. Carrie was really the only Grace child who was achieving a level of maturity. She rolled her kaleidoscope eyes at all of us.

As Jason finally released Piper, he went on to the rest of his children, hugging Carrie, Reid, and me. Despite the fact that my rather- ah- er- how do I put this- _intimidating _father did just that –intimidated- I was glad to see him. The stress was clearly getting to my mom, and even Kiki, Bertha, and Freddie were glad to see him back. My dad was, like it or not, the center of our household, and though he was gone at least a fourth of every month, it was good to have him home.

He smiled as Reid latched onto him. My little brother started jabbering on about his tee-ball competitions, with some enthusiastic input from a shining Piper. And, yes, I do mean _shining_.Her eyes literally glistened with happy tears, and Jason was about the same. I guess I could say that my parents loved each other- though a more correct term would be somewhere along the lines of a deep, slightly creepy from the eyes of their child, obsession to- I suppose, infatuation.

Alright, I just got shivers down my back. I'm sorry, but it is _deeply _creepy to think about your parents-

I literally gagged into my shirt, earning strange looks from Janie and Caroline. I have my reasons, sisters. I really do. I swear a sacred oath that I shall never think about Jason and Piper Grace doing-

That lasted long.

I look down at my wrist, checking my watch. I look at the little hand- oh, wait. I mean, I gazed down at the big hand- and saw that my sacred oath of cerebral direction in the way of not love affairs with my parents had lasted a whopping ten seconds. People could be laughing, but just think about _your _parents. Holy hell. Yes, I think I'm good.

I tuned in to Freddie's spiel. Think aversion, distraction, diversion… Tomato soup! I guess Bertha's tipped you off then, Freddie! Love you lots, really. Mm- grilled cheese- my mouth literally waters, and to my immediate displeasure, all I taste is my saliva. Which, you know, gross.

"That sounds great," Piper said, her eyes still riveted on Jason.

_Don't throw up, William, _I think desperately. Think happy thoughts. Rainbows. Stars. Hearts-

Hell. Here we are again.

Jason smiled as well, his eyes only for Piper. "Thanks, Frederick," he says warmly.

Alright, I know I'm not the only one witnessing the more-than-slightly unnerving exchange between my parents. Reid and I are full-out miming tossing our cookies, and Janie's face is red as a tomato. Her ears get this thing where just the tips tinge pink, and she's looking straight down at the floor, murmuring something to herself. I think it's some sort of mantra, because she appears as if she's trying to console herself about something. Even Caroline looks ill. And- I stifle a laugh- the servants look a bit uncomfortable as well. Frederick is red, like Janie, Kiki has a knowing smirk on her face, and Bertha looks scandalized (she comes from a very conservative family). I'm not the only one here, right?

Thank gods Frederick notices all of our discomfort. "Ah- Mr. and Mrs. Grace-" he prods, gesturing to us.

"What?" Piper says, finally diverting her eyes. Her mouth parts a bit as she sees us all in our various states of discomfort.

Jason looks at us as well, and for a moment, there is a thick awkward silence.

Then everyone starts to laugh.

We're all giggle-ridden and hysterical. Even little Reese, who was pretty much pantomiming me, is chuckling to himself manically. Six-year-olds get this look on their face when they try to look funny- their mouths split open to reveal gaps in their teeth, and their eyes get really big. They look sort of like an infuriated elf who just finished a brawl with Santa. I'm not sure if that's the best analogy, but it's the best I could come up with to describe the hilarity that is on Reid's face right now.

We all start laughing even harder, and pretty soon even traumatized Bertha joins in. All I can think the entire time is what people would say if they saw us. On second consideration, I don't know if they would say anything. Probably just go straight to the mental asylum and check us in, the family of loons.

Regardless, I still think it's pretty fantastic to be a Grace.

JASON'S POV

**I think it's safe to say that I love my family.**

I've just finished dinner with them, and was struck by how much I missed them all. I had been gone for a week and a half- one of my more prolonged business trips- and I was overcome with happiness when I saw my daughter run up to me.

She looked at me with that short, clipped, messy brown hair of hers and mischievous onyx eyes, and I was just happy to see Janie, and Reid, and Will, and Caroline. And Piper. I smile as I lie in my bed, exhausted from jetlag and a wonderful dinner. Especially Piper.

Speaking of Piper.

"Tired?" My wife queried, lips curving into a delicate smile as she walked into our bedroom.

I yawned, stretching my tired limbs. I gestured to the messy assortment of papers that lay around me on my bed. Angling my laptop so that it was half-shut, I gazed into her eyes and shrugged.

"A business man's job is never done," I said simply, and Piper grinned, flopping down next to me.

Her eyes traveled along the miscellaneous arrangement of pie charts and sales measures. She whistled, drawing the comical sound out. "You shouldn't have to do this, Jase. You just got home."

I sighed, running a hand through my blonde hair. "I have to anyway, Pipes. I'm not kidding when I say a business man's job is never complete."

"What about your job as a father?" Piper asked, staring at me searchingly. "Or a husband?"

"That's not fair," I grumbled, closing my laptop completely. "It's not my fault the stupid agency won't give me a few moments to lie in peace and prosperity."

Her mouth quirked up in a small smile. "Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing. You look rather angry, though," she said, and I saw the slightest flicker of concern behind her ever-changing eyes.

I heaved another sigh, gazing up at my bedroom ceiling. Our bedroom was a full suite, complete with the root bedroom, two walk-in-closets, a bathroom, and sitting room. Piper had done all the decorating, and I can't deny I liked it. The room had sort of a- clean tone. Crisp, simple, pure. A bright blue duvet with spruced pillows in a four-poster-bed for our bedroom, with an elegant television and sound system. Simplicity. Our closets were made of plain dark espresso wood and quartz floors, giving a certain air of modernism in contrast to the lack of complexities in our bedroom. Our bathroom was fashioned the same way, and the sitting room was sort of a mix. Dark espresso wood, pale blue and light green accents all over the place. It gave our bedroom a sort of airiness, and though we were moving tomorrow and most of our furniture was packed away, I knew I was going to miss the house.

My eyes were brought back to Piper, who was biting her lip concernedly.

"Don't worry," I said, taking her chin gently. I kissed her lips softly. "I'm fine. A break would be nice, but it's not really realistic."

"Mom, where did you put the toiletries?" Caroline complained, barging into our room. Her eyes- Piper's eyes- rested on us and instantly dilated. Her cheeks tinged pink, and I laughed a little.

"There's timing," Piper said exasperatedly, "and then there's that."

She walked out of the room to show Carrie where the toothbrushes and toothpaste were, while I was left with nothing but the prison of paper upon paper.

I smiled. Though the tantalizing italic Arial words taunted me, I found that I could conquer them quite easily. Work was always easy; just time-consuming. I supposed it could be worse.

Piper came in about a half-an-hour later, her eyes ridden with fatigue. I laughed quietly as she collapsed on the bed. We sat in silence for a while on our bed, until finally Piper pinched the bridge of her nose, stretching out.

"You know," she remarked softly, "I think you may have a fair point in the whole 'job's never done'."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes," she said animatedly. "I do believe that the children seem to think it deemed appropriate that their mother's job is never done. _Never_."

I chuckled affectionately, stroking Piper's long hair. "They're little monsters, every one of them," I said sagely, and she laughed, the sound high and pure.

"Mommy? I can't sleep."

We looked up to find Reid staring at us, voice wobbly and eyes teary. Piper just waved to me manically, dimpling with all of her teeth.

"This one's yours, Grace," she said with a grin.

I loved my family. Really, I did.

I mean it.

Mostly.


	3. Chapter: Runs and Realizations

A/N: Thanks again for following! I appreciate R&R, so thanks to all of you that have reviewed.

To Athenachild101- Yes, I know that this side of Percy is probably not appreciated. As for Annabeth- I'm trying to create a feeling where there's a sense of tragedy with Percy, and he's not able to actually put what happened in words for a while. There's also the fact that I'm trying to still plot out in my mind what happened. At any rate, I hope these answers helped.

Here we go with Chapter Three—

Chapter Three

RES'S POV

**Beep, beep, beep.**

The sound of my alarm clock jolts me from my peaceful abyss of sleep, and I moan, slamming my soft pillow over my head. The creamy whiteness of my walls lulls me to sleep while the harsh cacophony arouses my brain. I slam my hand down on the snooze button, yawning gently. Just a few more minutes-

_A_ _while later…_

"Miss Jackson!"

My head snaps up at Jenny's voice. She's standing over me, her pale brown hair shot through with streaks of grey. Usually, she has one of these kind, lopsided grins on her face, and then chuckles for no apparent reason. Jenny's been in our family for as long as I can remember, actually.

At this particular moment, however, there is no hint of a smile on Jenny's face. In fact, she looks positively livid. Angry, even. I yawn, and mumble a few words of my morning talk.

"Bwhyl r'byou minb bmy roomb?" I mumble, stretching my tired limbs.

"Look at your clock, Marilyn," Jenny says, frowning deeply.

I comply, rubbing the grit out of my eyes, and suck in a sharp breath.

I'm supposed to be waiting for the bus at precisely 6:47. That is the time I am to be dressed, and out in front of our three story brick colonial house, hair combed (somewhat) teeth brushed (mostly) and dressed (I should hope so, after all. My Hello Kitty® pajamas aren't exactly 'in' right now, if you know what I mean).

The clock, at this precise and exact minute, reads 6:45 "Shit!" I shout, ignoring Jenny's '_Marilyn_!' Crap, crap, shit, crap. I am _so _dead. The only other car in the house is Father's, and I really don't want to have to deal with shitty dads right now.

Is it a bad thing when the sun hasn't even risen yet and you've already used the word 'shit' three times- in your mind or otherwise-?

Conclusion #5: Yes, yes it is.

I scramble into my closet, ignoring Jenny's sigh of exasperation. Stupid clock. You were supposed to wake me off just as I was dozing off. Good for nothing clock. I compose a poem in my mind about my clock, making it rhyme just for fun.

_Oh clockie,_

_You good for nothing piece of shit _(make that four times)

_You are so suckie _(that rhymes, right?)

_You good for nothing piece of crap. _

_Oh clockiieeeeeee_

_I need to throw you away,_

_Your history of waking me up is rocky,_

_Oh clockie,_

_This poem really is_

_Suckie._

Oh, my god.

I've finally done it.

I've crossed the wavering line between my sanity and insanity. I've finally gone insane. Jenny, lock me up in a mental asylum now. I need it, badly.

I grab my plaid uniform skirt and shirt, sliding them on as soon as I rip my pajamas off. It was really unfortunate, our uniform, because it was butt-ugly. I despised it. Our shirts were this sickly yellow with the emblem of the cross over my right breast and the name _St. Gabriel _stitched underneath the cross. For a bunch of nuns who were 'supposedly' chaste, that was very poor strategic placement, ladies. Our skirts are this pale gray plaid pattern, shot through with strands of yellow. I slide on Nike crew socks, grimacing at the poor assortment.

I pull my Nikes over my feet, letting out a harsh string of curses. Gran might be right. I really need an attitude adjustment and a bar of soap. Hmm. Soap. You know, I've always liked soaps that smell of strawberries. I get these really fuzzy recollections of this really soft shirt and laughter, and some bright strawberry fields. Strawberries are even my favorite food.

"_Miss Jackson_!"

Oh. Yes. Right, then.

"Coming!" I shout. I don't even bother to put up my hair or brush my teeth. Yes, I know, it's really disgusting, but I can't right now. I cannot be forced to ride with my father.

I literally sprint down my stairs, grabbing my backpack from where it hangs on my chair and a five-dollar-bill for lunch. I will make this bus. I will, I will, I _will make this bus_.

Running out the front door, ignoring Jenny's shouts about something, I arrive just in time.

Just in time to see the yellow automobile pull away, that is. Children snigger at me in the backseats. Honestly, children, the least you can do is yell to the bus driver, yeah? Something along the lines of, oh, I don't know, "THERE IS A GIRL AND SHE IS WATCHING YOU DRIVE AWAY?" Maybe the bus driver is on their side as well. Perhaps it's a conspiracy.

Yes, I've gone insane.

"_Shit_!" I spit out, cursing for the fifth time that day.

"Miss Jackson?" Jenny says from the front door, arms crossed over her plump figure. "Would you like me to get your father?"

I hesitate for a moment. "Is walking an option?"

Jenny snorts. "It's thirty-five degrees and pitch-black outside, Marilyn. You would have to walk twenty miles."

"So is that a no?"

Jenny glares at me. "Yes, Marilyn, that is a very _profound _no. I'll fetch your father, just wait a moment."

Shit. For the sixth and seventh time this day, shit.

PERCY'S POV

**I am drinking my cup of coffee with a grimace.**

Paul was right. The news really are disastrous. War and drugs everywhere. It's dumb, how people throw away their lives like that. They're lucky to have them. My grimace deepens. Hades needs a call about death. It needs to be taken away.

"Mr. Jackson?"

I look up to see Jenny over the rim of my mug. I frown at her and rest my eyes on the newspaper again. Taking a gentle sip of my coffee, I speak quietly and menacingly.

"Is there a reason that you are disturbing me at this hour of the morning, Jennifer?" I ask coolly, surveying the catastrophic front page.

"Well- ah- yes, Mr. Jackson."

Something in her voice startles me, and I fold the piece of newspaper. Setting it down with a small rustle of papers, I raise my eyebrows, folding my arms on the wooden table beneath me. After a long pause, I speak. "Well, Jennifer? Get on with it, please."

"Oh- right," she says, face reddening. "Ah- Marilyn-"

I groan. Of course it was my daughter. "What did she do?"

The old housemaid scratched the nape of her neck nervously. "She- ah- well, she missed the bus."

I cross my arms, and am silent for a moment. I want to do pretty much anything but drive my daughter to school right now. Finally, I heave a sigh, and turn away.

"Get my keys," I sigh to Jennifer, back still turned.

_Five minutes later…_

My car is heavy with silence.

Marilyn sits in the back seat of my old BMW quietly, fiddling with her backpack. With her bed bowed like that, it almost breaks my heart. I can't see her eyes, and in that moment, staying very still, she looks so much like her mom.

I swallow, a lump rising in the back of my throat. I begin to construct the walls around my hearts. A brick at a time, encasing one memory. I'm so involved in trying to ignore Marilyn that I nearly pass her school.

"Father," Marilyn says quietly, jolting me out of my depressing train of thought.

"Yes?" I snap.

"You're about to pass my school," she says dryly, and I curse under my breath as I turn the car violently.

I hear a huge honk as a Porsche pulls in. I slam my hand down on the wheel at the same time, and the Porsche- a black, big, expensive-looking thing- rolls down its window. I keep the tinted windows of my sedan closed.

I suck in a very sharp breath as I see who the driver is.

Piper McLean.

I swerve around it, earning a chorus of honks from everyone. Some part of me is screaming for being a coward, for not saying hello, or at the very least just driving past. Marilyn is thrown to the side and she screams.

I whirl around, but she just has her hands up. I exhale. _She's fine, Percy, _I think to myself. _Chill out._

"What the hell was that for?" Marilyn asks, her voice shaky.

"Get out," I say simply, a block away from the school.

"What?"

"I said, get out," I repeat to her.

"But-"

"_I said to _get out," I tell her, my eyes steely.

Marilyn opens her mouth to say something, and finally just snorts angrily. Grabbing her backpack, she slings it over her shoulder. Swinging open the car door, she slams it shut, and begins to sprint for her school.

I sigh. I probably just imagined Piper. Probably my imagination. There were plenty of other drop-dead-gorgeous Native American moms with kaleidoscope eyes and long, shimmery brown hair in Quincy, Massachusetts.

I was just imagining things, and that was all.

REESE'S POV

**I frown.**

I've been waiting for Lyn to show up for at least five minutes. I was waiting by her locker, and, to my dismay, she still hasn't showed up. Either that, or she ditched me really early, which would suck, but I don't think she'd do that.

The halls, previously filled to the brim with students, are now nearly empty, providing room for a few stragglers. I sigh, just about ready to walk to first bell on my own, when I see her.

God. Lyn looks horrid.

Her blonde curls have been pinned up in a bun in back of her head, and a few tendrils hang down in her face. She's wearing her uniform in this really wrinkled state, and I'm ninety percent sure her skirt is backwards. Her socks are lopsided, and I think her Nikes might even be on the wrong feet.

I have to say, she looks hot, in some disheveled way. Obviously, she doesn't see it this way.

"Shit," she says as she practically collapses at her locker. She twists the combination like lightning, and then curses again as her locker refuses to open.

"Um, Lynnie?"

"Yeah?" she snaps, exhaling in relief as her locker finally opens.

"What happened?" I query, observing her state. Not the best, to be sure. She looks like she just woke up after a sound night in the dumpster. Not ugly, again, but not exactly- polished.

Lyn groans as she yanks her books from her locker. "I missed the stupid bus and got dropped off by my stupid dad. He dropped me off a block away, hence my mad sprint and crappy attitude" she says quickly, kicking her locker shut as she collects some messy assortment of books.

"I guess that explains your- ah- _state_," I say, gesturing to her assortment.

Lyn grouses a melancholy whine. "Is it really that bad?"

"No," I say, considering, "if you were going for the dumpster-y look."

She moans, and we run off to Mrs. Bridge's science class. From the look on my best friend's face, I could tell that this wasn't going to bode well for the rest of her day. It would provide a cheap sense of humor and entertainment for me, but really just embarrass her.

We ran down the hallways filled with florescent lighting and cheap, multi-colored tiles. For how much the tuition costs for this private school, the least they could do was get some decent flooring. Some floors that didn't stick up unevenly in bumps where the land was wavy, and cause certain friends to nearly trip and fall flat on their face.

"Ah!" Lyn shouts, nearly catapulting forward.

I giggle as she regains her balance at the last second. She glares at me. "What?" I say innocently, shrugging my shoulders.

She mutters something suspiciously along the lines of a female dog, and I frown at her. "Now who needs the soap, hmm?"

Shooting me another venomous glare- those eyes of hers are rather pretty, but they can be rather scary as well- we enter Mrs. Bridge's classroom just as the bell rings.

Mrs. Bridge looks up from her desk. Surprisingly enough, she's actually a fun teacher, despite the fact that she's a spinster, and rumored to be cranky as ever. Personally, I think she just likes Lyn, and she likes me because I'm friends with her. Lyn is pretty much the smartest person I know, despite her dyslexia and ADHD.

English class is the only subject she has even a little bit of trouble with, and she just gets specially pre-ordered books. Her insights and conclusions- Jesus Christ. I feel so dumb next to her.

"Get to your seats, girls," Bridge says, pressing her lips tightly together. Favorite students or not, we were still nearly late.

Lyn and I head to our seats in the back of the room. I sit, clearly bored, at our black science lab desks, drumming my fingers against the surface. Unfortunately, my lab partner ditched me and left halfway through the year, so I'm forced to make a threesome with Lyn or some other girl whenever we work together. I feel cramped at the small tables, with my abnormally tall height. I'm six feet and four inches, and let me tell you, that makes you pretty damn good at basketball and volleyball- and basically any other sport-, but pretty much just claustrophobic anywhere else.

Mrs. Bridge stands up to her podium at the front of the room and shuffles some papers, probably our lesson plan, and opens her mouth to speak when there's a knock at my door.

I turn, confused, and see Mr. Newman, our principal, at the door.

I also see a very attractive boy.

I'm not one to really say that someone's 'attractive'. I'm not a girly-girl; let's just leave it at that. But this boy- he is _seriously _hot. He's tall, a shocker for middle school, which is pretty much the awkward age where all of the girls are taller than the boys because of the growth spurt that happens in high school. He's not a thin, super-tall stick, like me, either. Just, you know, a normal height- five ten, at least.

He has this coffee skin and dark hair in a messy bunch on the top of his head, and really bright, really clear blue eyes. There's almost this sexy Native American look about him, and he's standing idly, drumming his fingers on his books.

Ew. Listen to me. I sound like some dumb groupie. I'm a dumb jock, not a dumb groupie.

Mrs. Bridge stands at the front of the room, and her dull brown eyes brighten with understanding. She hurries over to the door and opens it, spilling out a stream of apologies.

"Sorry, Bruce, I forgot," she rambles, addressing the principal.

Newman brushes it off. "No harm done, Nora. None at all. I suppose I'll just- leave him to you?" he questions, gesturing to the attractive Native American boy.

God. I really need a name for him. I should not be thinking these unorthodox thoughts.

"Yes, of course," Bridge says hurriedly, and as Newman closes the door, she turns to all of us. The boy's face reddens, and she smiles at all of us, showing her yellow, scraggly teeth. Ew. Not pretty, Nora.

She brings the boy to the front of the room. "Ah- class, it seems we have a new boy. Walter, wasn't it?" she asks, turning to the boy.

Walter shakes his head. "William, actually. William Grace."

Nope. Not Walt, then. Willie.

"Alright," she says brightly. "You just moved here from- Lima?"

A South American boy? Really? I didn't detect an accent, but then of course…

He looks at her as if she's crazy. "No. I come from Lincoln Park, outside of Chicago."

I tilt my head. That makes a lot more sense. I don't really know why anyone would move from Lima, Peru, to Quincy, Massachusetts.

"Oh! My apologies, Warren," she says, smiling. I can't help but grin. Mrs. Bridge is infamous for never remembering names. I think that Marilyn's name is actually the only one she remembers, but then again, it's not exactly easy to forget Lyn.

William's eyebrows furrow, but he doesn't get the chance to say anything. Bridge resumes her unpleasant spiel, and he frowns.

"Ah- let's see- is anyone's desk open for a partner?" Bridge asks, scanning her eyes over the room.

I tentatively raise a hand, and her eyes zone in on me like a hawk. Thanks, Nora. I knew you'd pull through for me. "Ah! Go ahead over to Rachel's desk, Wallace," she says, gesturing to me.

Really? _Rachel_? Come on, Nora, it's not even close! Except for starting with an R… but that hardly counts.

He hesitates, like he wants to say something, but eventually shrugs. "'K, sure," he says, sauntering over to my desk.

I frown. That was a swagger. You may not be my crush for long, Walter/William/Warren/Wallace.

"Hey," he whispers, ignoring Bridge's ramblings about today's project.

I raise my eyebrows. "Some of us are here to learn, you know," I muttered, proud that my voice hadn't come out shaky.

He rolls his eyes. "You didn't strike me as the kind of girl that likes to learn."

Was that a good thing or a bad thing? I wasn't really sure. In fact, I hadn't even struck myself as a girl who liked to learn. I almost felt like laughing. He should see Lyn, if he wanted to see smart.

Or pretty, I thought next. Marilyn was named well. She was pretty much a Marilyn Monroe, when she brushed her hair- and her teeth, I remembered with a grimace. Ew. It also helped when she wore a regular bra versus a sports bra. She had cleavage, she just didn't use it.

Then a paper was slapped down in front of me.

I frowned. My attention span was exceptionally short, and it wasn't abnormal for me to be sidetracked. Especially with William next to me. I sighed. The seat arrangement was perhaps not the best idea, despite my hormones screaming yes. My brain said no.

Well. I was in quite the predicament, wasn't I?  
"So," William drawled, drawing out the 'o'. "What are we supposed to be doing, again? I wasn't really paying attention, smarts."

Oh, come on. He didn't have an answer either? This was going to be a very long trimester, I could already tell.

"Ah-" my eyes scanned over the directions. They didn't make a lick of sense. My palms began sweating, and my eye twitched- an unfortunate tick that sprung up whenever I was nervous.

Then inspiration struck.

"I don't know," I said casually, tossing him a smirk. I don't really know if it came off as a smug grin or a manic serial killer face, but it sure felt good. "Why don't you read the directions? I don't appreciate being copy-cat-ed."

Actually, I thought that was pretty smooth. _Nice, Reese. Good job._

William shrugged. "I can't. Dyslexic."

Aw, come on. Can't I get a break, here? Just a little one? Full of 'Oh-that's-fine-I-guess-you're-just-too-awesome-for-me-to-handle?'

Evidently not.

I groaned. "Really?" I winced at the sound of the words. They sounded so- rude. I meant for it to come off more light and sarcastic, but they reflected my insides.

William obviously picked up the rude vibe as well. He raised both eyebrows. "I don't know if it's just because I'm new around here, Rachel, but I happen to take that as an insult. Yeah, really."

I made a face. "Sorry. Actually, I have a friend who is dyslexic as well. I don't really mean to sound that rude, and I don't have a problem with it."

"Really, Rachel?" he asked dubiously.

I frowned. "Rachel?"

"Well, yes, that's what Mrs. Bridge called you, right?"

It took a moment for the words to process, and then I giggled. He actually thought my name was Rachel. Just like he apparently had four names. This class was full of aliases.

"What?" William demanded, crossing his arms. "What's so funny?"

"You- you actually thought my name was Rachel," I said between giggles.

"It's not?" he queried, looking very confused. I laughed even harder, and my breaths were coming in bouts now.

"No," I laughed. "Bridge can't remember anyone's name. She called you what? Four names?" I snickered. "No. My name is Reese."

"Oh," William said, his face showing comprehension. He dimpled as well, and stuck out his hand. "My name's Will."

"Will," I nodded. Then I blushed, turning down to the assignment. "Ah- actually, the reason I groaned- I'm actually not smart. I don't really know what I'm supposed to write."

Will smirked. "I do."

"What?" I shouted, earning a few strange looks from other people. "You do?" I said, quieter this time.

"Yep," he said, popping the 'p'. "Like I said, you didn't seem like a bookish girl to me. I wanted to see if you could hold your bluff."

"Obviously not," I muttered angrily, and then turned to the paper. "So what are we exactly supposed to do?"

He shrugged. "I guess answer some hypothetic questions on waves. Apparently we're doing a very exciting experiment with a slinky tomorrow," he said. "Sounds fun."

My lips twitched at his sarcasm. I looked to the paper and groaned. "Christ," I said angrily. "Really? 'Question Three: What are longitudinal waves?' Really? No textbook, no previous teaching-" I smacked my forehead. "What does longitudinal even mean, anyway?"

"I have absolutely no idea," he said, beaming. "Want to bullshit it all?"

I moaned. "No. We can't. Bridge is bound to check something. She's the devil's spawn, you know. The only person in the grade who can probably answer these is my friend."

Will frowned. "Is she in this class?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "She's super-smart, despite the whole dyslexic thing."

His eyes sharpened. "She's the dyslexic one?"

"Yeah, and insanely smart," I told him, wondering where this was going.

He bit his lip. "This might sound like a weird question, but-"

I snorted. "Then don't ask it."

He sighed. "Look- does your friend also happen to have ADHD?"

My eyes widened to the sound of saucers. "What the hell? Are you some sort of stalker?" How did he know that? My mind was spinning. Mr. Super-Hot had just become Mr. Creepy.

"No, no," he assured me. "My- ah- mom is a doctor. She's researching dyslexia, and apparently a common pairing is dyslexia and ADHD."

I frowned, still wary. I had never heard that before.

"Look," he sighed. "Why don't you just toss her a note? We can be annoying copy-cats. Somehow I don't think you have any qualms about copying off of _other _people."

I mimicked his words with my mouth, attempting to mock him, but I think it came off as more of a spastic reaction, because he laughed. I shook my head. "We can try, but I really don't think Lynnie is gonna let us copy. Braver men than you have tried, my dear William."

Will laughed again. "Just try, okay? Bullshit is our other option, and I'd like to exploit our available resources."

"You know what would be a really good resource right now? _A textbook_," I muttered, but I got out a notecard from my pencil pouch, and scribbled in my untidy handwriting.

_Do you have the answers? Pretty boy and I here are screwed, so it would be really helpful. Pleeasse?_

I crumpled up the small piece of paper and chucked it at her head discreetly. She ruined it, though, with twisting around suddenly, bright green eyes wide. I rolled my eyes as she spotted the note on the floor and flushed red. Brilliant, Lyn. Really.

"That's your friend?" Will asked, frowning. He looked her over and I grimaced. Yes, Will, dear, that's my lovely friend Marilyn Monroe. Now please look over here.

She frowned as she opened the note, shooting me a glare. She scribbled something back in her meticulous handwriting- a result of dyslexia, I guess- and tossed it over. It landed in the middle of the hallway. Great aim, Lyn. Her smarts were good, but her athletic ability- or should I say lack thereof- left something to be desired.

I picked it up, trying my best not to be noticeable. I was pretty sure that old Hag Bridge was sleeping at her desk, so I don't think she saw us, but still. Cautiousness is advised in these sorts of things.

I opened it carefully, grimacing at Lyn's message.

**Hm. Wonderful, Reese. Let me think- poor you, getting stuck with an attractive male. These questions aren't for a grade, dummy, or submitted to the state or anything. It's just to show Mrs. Bridge what we know. Hasn't William suggested bullshit yet? He seems plenty dumb enough.**

I frown. Her guess was oddly close, and it makes me wonder if she overheard our conversation. At any rate, I shrugged.

_Aw, c'mon, Lynnie. And ha! You admit that he's attractive. And, er, yes, the word bullshit has come into play, it's true, but his words exactly were- 'I'd like to exploit our available resources'. After, of course, he suggested bullshit, and I brought up that you are the ONLY ONE IN THIS CLASS WHO CAN ANSWER! PLEASE, LYNNIE, PLEASE!_

I toss the note over to her and look over at Will. He's doodling on his paper, these really neat pictures of what looks like lightning. I smile.

"Hey, those are really good," I admit, pointing to the drawings.

He flushes, and I've decided I like modest Will the most. He's even cuter when he gets flustered.

"Oh-thanks," he says, clearing his throat. Yep, he's a cutie.

The note lands on our desk, and I cross my fingers, hoping for the right reply.

**Seriously, Reese? Yes, I can answer these questions, but that privilege is for MY PARTNER ONLY. And really, coming to the dyslexic girl for help? I think not, perfectly fine reader. You're smart, Res, you just don't apply yourself. *sigh* and, just for the record, I DO NOT FIND WILLIAM GRACE THAT ATTRACTIVE. I think I saw his mom today in the car, as you know how small this school is. She's really pretty, and honked at my dad, so she gets some points for that, but, otherwise, he's not that attractive. Somewhat cute in a way? Maybe. Model? Not really.**

I grin, a plan formulating in my screwed up mind. I push the eraser on my mechanical pencil, sharpening it for action.

_Not REALLY? Aww, my baby's got a crush!_

Alright. So my maturity may leave something to be desired. I turn to Will with a grin after chucking it at her head.

"I think I may have found the solution," I announce, and he looks at me, an eyebrow raised.

"Which is?" he inquires, doubt lying in his voice.

I smirk. "Torture the said target until she gives us said treasure."

He grins now, catching on. "The answer to number one is?"

A paper lands on our desk.

**I DO NOT HAVE A CRUSH ON WILLIAM GRACE! WHAT CAN I SAY TO MAKE YOU STOP DOUBTING ME?**

Oh, my naïve little Marilyn.

_Question one, please, will do just fine, I think._

I wait for her evilly. She shoots me a glower, but scribbles something down and mutters under her breath. I cross my fingers. If this won't work, then I don't know what will.

**Crests.**

**I really hate you, Reese.**

I look up from the notecard. "I have done it!" I shout, standing up in my chair. People look at me, and William laughs. "I have the answer!"

"Uh, Reese?"

"Yes, my fellow soldier?"

"Answer, please." His smile reaches all the way across his face.

I redden, now that I see people's eyes on me. I sit down hurriedly and then look to William.

"Ah, yes. Crests, I believe," I whisper as I ready another note card.

This was going to be a very incessant class for our dear Miss Jackson.

WILL'S POV

**I'm actually grinning.**

It's not that it's unusual for me to smile, or anything like that. It's more of the fact that I usually don't smile on the first day at a new school, especially when it's mid-year. It's March first, and I can't help but notice that Quincy isn't too bad.

We moved into our house yesterday, and the movers started unpacking. I'm sure that Piper and Jason are still at it, as we all had to sleep in sleeping bags in the living room last night. The house is a bit different than the one in Lincoln Park- more history, I think, and a lot more secret staircases. Reid already found one. It's not much of a secret; just a little inlet tucked neatly into some nook or cranny. Piper said it was probably used for servants, or slaves, though that would be less common as we were in Yankee territory.

It's a lot less musty, as well. It reminds me of when Caroline was watching _Gone with the Wind _for some school project. The house they had was this really big, grand, white dwelling tucked into the woods of some plantation. I had laughed at the southern accent and old-timey vibe, and as such Carrie kicked me out, but the memory was still there. The house we had was pretty much exactly like that- big, white, and tucked into the woods. Not bad, actually. It's perhaps a little more airy than the house in the movie, but it's still pretty.

I spent all day yesterday unpacking most of my room and decorating it. We all have these traditional things we do with our rooms to make it seem like home. Janie got all decked out in her paintball outfit. Carrie has these huge bookshelves- she fills them with albums, though. Music is everywhere. Reid just arranged his dinosaur themed room, and, as for me- posters and drawings. I really like art or drawing, and I tack up my really good pieces onto my walls. Every poster I find everywhere except for at the school book fair goes to my walls. The walls were a dark greyish blue, though I didn't really mind. You can hardly even see the color of my walls now.

I unpacked a little furniture, my desk, for example, and Kiki's going to construct all of the beds today. It's going to take a few weeks to unpack completely, but we have people to do it for us. Jason and Piper hardly need to do anything.

Our nanny, Quinn, was waiting for us when we got home. She had already unpacked a little, as the days previous were her last break regarding the move. Her sister, co-housemaid, Sara, was also waiting. I suppose we have quite the staff, if you think about it. Our housemaids were Sara and Kiki. Our chefs were Bertha and Frederick. We had a butler, Vance, and a nanny, Quinn. Hmm. Our staff was bigger than our family.

It was fifth bell, otherwise known as 'eighth grade lunch', and I sat down at the cafeteria table, unpacking whatever concoction Freddie had made for me. I was unsurprised to find some sort of sandwich with exotic, disgusting looking grains on it. There was a notecard attached.

I've decided to take the liability to expand your tastes. A Quinoa wrap will suffice to start. May your taste buds rejoice.

-Freddie

Oh, come on, Freds. I thought we were better friends than that. Really, with the whole 'I am going to starve you until you eat disgusting slop?' I thought we were past this. That tomato soup and grilled cheese yesterday? Wonderful.

"Oy!"

I look up to see a tall, strapping boy with a head of red-blonde hair and a spattering of freckles shaking his head. He talks with a slight Scottish burr. "Why, mate? Can't we agree to disagree with the food in the lunchroom? Disgusting," he says with a mocking frown on his face.

A lot of people would find this incredibly offending. Unfortunately, I simply find it funny. "Actually, I couldn't agree with you more. This is my head chef's doing, not mine, believe me."

At this, the boy looks me up and down. He then sticks out his hand. "Samuel O'Malley, at your service. Sam, to all that aren't in the military."

I grin. "Not in the military. Name's William Grace. Call me Will, though."

"Are ye knew here?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah," I admit with a frown. "Second move this year."

Sam makes a face. "Ooch. I'm sorry, friend." He surveys my empty, lonesome table. Finally, he heaves an overdramatic sigh. "Here. My table's over in the far right." He hands me two dollars. "Long as you buy a new lunch, you can eat with us, yeah?"

I grin. "Samuel O'Malley, you're a saint."

Sam just smirks and crosses his arms. "I thought you said you weren't in the military."

"I'm not," I reply.

Just very grateful of certain people.

The first half of my day has been brightened by the eccentricities that are Samuel O'Malley and Reese- something. I don't know her last name. I can't help that Quincy's beginning to grow on me, even with only one day. The winds of change are here. Randall, you were most certainly right. My mouth twitches as I think of the peculiar color-changing reptile from Monsters, Inc. ®

I smile. Things are finally beginning to look up.


	4. Chapter 4: Mothers and Meals

A/N: Sorry for the long time no update! I was suffering from writer's block and started this chapter three different times. Combined with the evilness that is school and tests- yeah. Anyway, here we go with Chapter Four!

Chapter Four

MARILYN'S POV

**I really do despise school.**

Honestly and truly, I do. I hate everything about it, from the cheap, fluorescent lights, to the stingy, old nuns teaching us with their grim faces and lack of humor. I hate the crisp, hot, sharp pieces of paper that snag on your knuckles, leaving a pale red stripe. I hate the mechanical pencils that break as soon as you begin to scribble on the crumpled pieces of paper you almost lost the day before.

In all fairness, I think I deserve the right to hate school.

I sit in the girl's locker room besides Reese in the gym, wrinkling my nose at the scent. The locker room isn't smelly, or sweaty, exactly, more of a sickly-sweet homogenous mixture that hangs on the air heavily, a result of the mixture of the different perfumes and deodorants. The combined smell is enough to give anyone a headache.

Reese is grinning as she pulls a t-shirt over her head. This is her favorite class of the day, after all.

"Jesus, Lyn, lighten up a bit," Reese remarks as she counts in my grouchy face.

"No." I yank a hairbrush through my hair viciously, and wince in pain as a few tendrils of hair come out with it. I really need to get a good brush.

"Are you planning on making a wig?" Reese asks, gesturing to my brush chock-full of hairs. "You seem to have enough hair to make one."

"Ha, ha," I say dryly, giving up on my hair. I take a rubber band from my wrist and pin it up in a sloppy bun. I'm so past caring. "What has you in a good mood, anyway?"

"My victory!" Reese shouts, earning odd looks from passerby. I roll my eyes.

"Congratulations, Res," I say, elbowing her in the shoulder.

"C'mon, you have to admit that was some beautiful brainwash back there," Reese complains. "I got _all fourteen _questions!"

"Yes, gorgeous. Now, please quiet down, psychotic child. My brain is far too fragile to handle your eccentricities right now." I slide on my gym shoes and tighten my shorts.

"It's sixth bell, Lynnie. You can no longer play the 'I'm so tired I got no sleep' excuse." At my look of outrage, Reese put a hand up to stop me. "I'm not saying that's what happened; it's just a general idea, but really, Lyn, wake up."

I scowl at her. "It's Father's fault. Blame him."

"You can't blame everything on your dad, Lyn," Reese said exasperatedly. "Just because he's ninety percent of all problems doesn't mean he's all of them."

I frown. "That didn't make a whole lot of sense, and yes, he is actually the source of all my problems."

"No, he's not," Reese said. "Your father may be a bitch, but he's not every problem."

"Uh-" I began, before Reese shoved the rest of her clothes inside her locker.

"Time to go," she said cheerfully, pointing at the clock. To my dismay, the clock indeed read 12:30, and with a groan, I rose from my perch on the bench below the lockers. I neatly folded the rest of my day clothes into my locker as well, and began to walk out with Reese.

"This isn't over," I grumbled.

Reese just patted my head with a grin. "If that's what you want to believe, fine."

"Girls!"

Our PE instructor, Miss Fisher, walked over to us with a glower.

Before I resume with my wonderful train of thought, a sidetracked note to really describe Fisher in her essence.

Lisa K. Fisher is a stingy old spinster. She's probably about fifty, but she looks eighty with the wrinkles that hang in her face. I've never once seen her smile- sometimes she laughs bitterly, her face contorted in some sort of a manic grimace, but real smiles? Nope. She's short, only about five feet, and smokes, which is sort of ironic considering she's the gym/health teacher.

Such is the choppy essence of the life- or lack thereof- presiding to Miss Lisa K. Fisher.

"Yes?" Reese asked sweetly, layering on the coating of butter. I winced. Even to me, her daring accomplice in weaseling out of trouble, that sounded forced.

Fisher heard it as well. "Get to your seats, girls," she spat, gesturing to the rows of bleachers.

Reese and I walked over, heads bowed. A group of kids snickered at our defeat via troll/gym teacher, and Reese glared at them, shutting up a few girls. A couple of the boys continued their rant; finding Fisher's comment to be apparently hilarious and witty.

"Shut it," I muttered, looking at the floor. The sniggering ensued as I sat down on the silver benches, cheeks red.

"Hey, jerks?"

I turned to see Reese with her imposing, tall figure standing with her arms crossed. The boys looked at her.

"Yeah?" One kid jabbed, chortling manically.

"Back off, bitches." She smirked at their silenced figures. I smiled to myself secretly. It wasn't a witty comment, or a smart one, just a well-timed jab.

Unfortunately, Fisher didn't see it that way.

"_Miss Winters_!" Fisher said, obviously scandalized.

Reese swerved around. Her eyes widened, and a red blush crept up through her neck. "Oh, Miss Fisher!" she said after a lengthy pause. The dread was evident in her voice.

Fisher pursed her lips and frowned. "Office, Winters. Now." She shot a look at me as well. "You too, Jackson," she added as an afterthought.

"But Miss Fisher-" I began.

"Don't talk back to me, Jackson. Office."

_Shit, _I thought with a hollow stomach. _My father is going to kill me. Really and physically, kill me. As in the murderous whims of knives and daggers._

"Miss Fisher, Ly- I mean, Marilyn- didn't do anything!" Reese protested, panic coming into her features. She knew the threats of my father looming over my head.

"Office. _Now_," Fisher snapped. Then, she got a glint in her eyes. "Actually, wait here." She walked briskly off to a room to the right, presumably her office.

I sat down on the bleacher and rubbed my face. My father was legitimately going to kill me.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," Reese consoled weakly, sitting next to me.

I shot her a glance. "Yes, it will, Reese."

"What can he do to you, anyway?" Reese asked. "I mean- ground you? That won't be too bad, right?"

"Reese." I turned toward her, lifting my face from my hands. Looking directly into her eyes, I spoke clearly and crisply. "When I was seven, after my parent-teacher-meeting that was required _by law_, he grounded and deprived me of food for _two days. _I was grounded for another month. Would you like to know why?"

Reese shook her head no, but I continued anyway.

"Mrs. Bentley, my teacher, told my father that I participated too far above the grade level for her to challenge me. She recommended to my father that he teach me himself."

Reese furrowed her eyebrows. "What did you do wrong?"

I quirked a bitter smile. "Apparently, I was showing off unnecessarily."

There was a silence. Then, very softly and slowly, Reese lifted a hand to her mouth, pressing it there against her lips. I took note of her fingernails during the awkward silence. They were painted nicely and neatly; an electric blue that matched her energetic personality.

Fisher came back, her short, steel-gray hair bobbing up and down. She handed us each a slip of paper. With a sickening feeling, I read the words carefully, concentrating on the sloppy cursive. It was like torture to my dyslexic, brain, but something like this came out:

_Clal uyur parnets._

With some translation, I realized its meaning. Call your parents.

_Shit._

Fisher smirked. Again, the odd grimace looked more like a spastic tick than a smile. "Do as it says, girls, and show it to Mr. Newman, if you please. Tell him that you were sent by me."

I simply nodded wordlessly, rising mechanically. All of my movements seemed forced; as if I were being pulled along on strings by a puppeteer. My head pounded, and my stomach felt as if it were being lifted out of my body.

Reese began walking, clenching the piece of paper in her fist. I followed, trudging along. The soles of my sneakers squeaked against the gym floor, creating an overly dramatic exit.

My father was going to kill me, that much was certain.

MRS. FRANNY GOODWIN'S POV

**I** **sat at my desk with a melancholy air.**

I had worked at St. Gabriel as their secretary for thirteen years now, and regardless of the promises made by numerous faculty members, the job never seemed to get easier or more habitual. Or more enjoyable, for that matter.

I looked down at the piece of paper before me, listing the previous day's lateness and early dismissal excuses. I wrinkled my nose at some of the more absurd stories. Some of them, like: _Dentist's Appointment. 3:00. Hannah Foster_, were more common, taking up eighty percent of the page. Others, like: _Had a phantom broken ankle. Late. 8:30. Glenda Jenkins, _never ceased to shock me. Really, if you were going to make up an excuse, a _phantom broken ankle _was never a good course of action. I made a note in the person's attendance record, tallying a tardy.

There was the swooshing noise of an open door, and I glanced up from my work, glad for the aversion. I was grateful for the excuse to meander away time.

Immediately, from the two girls' expressions, I could tell they were here for either the psychologist or the principal. The first of the two, an extraordinarily tall, stick-thin girl with a wild mass of red frizzy hair, had an annoyed expression on her face. The other, a relatively small, pretty girl with large, long, golden curls spiraling down her back in a ponytail and bright, luminous green eyes looked as if her cat had died. I pursed my lips, considering. They were both wearing gym clothes, so I assumed the principal.

"Mr. Newman's in his office," I said, gesturing to the door behind me.

"Thanks," the blonde-haired girl said weakly. She really was quite pretty, I realized, and she looked far too contrite to be heading to the principal's office. I shrugged, rising from my seat at my desk.

"I'll just let him know that you're here," I told them, and knocked on Jack's door quietly. Jack Newman had been my friend since I had started working here, and though we weren't close acquaintances, he still stopped by to greet me every morning over a cup of coffee.

"Hello?" came a weary voice from inside the office. "Who is it?"

"It's Fran," I said from behind the door. "You have two kids who need to see you."

Jack sighed, audible from my position. Finally, after a lengthy hesitation, his voice surfaced. "Come in," he called.

"Thank you," I directed towards him. I then turned to the two girls. "He's ready for you."

"Thanks," the blonde girl said meekly. I pursed my lips. It was obviously her first time in trouble, and I was worried about her.

They walked into the office, and I hesitated by the door. I had nothing better to do with my time, and no one was likely to see me eavesdropping.

"Hello, girls," Jack said tiredly, and I heard the shuffling of papers. "What brings you to my office?"

There was a silence, and the faint rustle of two pieces of paper.

"Call you parents? Whatever for?" I heard the distress in Jack's voice, and the prying note.

"Look," began a voice that I hadn't heard before- presumably the redhead. "These boys were being really mean- laughing and stuff. I- I may have called him- a- ah-"

I smiled at myself. I had been in the same position myself, back in seventh grade, when I called Georgie McKinnon a shithead. It was an ugly swear, and though people had clapped at the blasphemy of the younger bully, my English teacher had not found it so amusing. I remembered to this day admitting to Mr. Hartman, the principal at the time, of my swearing.

"No need to say anymore," Jack began, the responsible tone creeping into his voice. "I must ask- what did your friend- Marilyn, I believe- do?"

"Nothing," the redhead continued. "I swore, but Mrs. Fisher just pinned it on her. She really didn't do anything."

I heard a pause. "Alright," Jack began with a sigh. "I'll ask you both to call your parents, and clear all of this up. Marilyn, I'm inclined to believe you, but as a principal, I am forced to trust Lisa Fisher's judgment. I'm very sorry."

"No, please, Mr. Fisher," Marilyn said, a pleading tone in her voice. I recognized her tone from before. "Please don't make me call my father. I'll do anything else- lunch detentions for three weeks, scrubbing chalkboards- anything. Just please don't call my father."

I paused. There was something in Marilyn's voice that was- off. It was unlike the other conversations that I had eavesdropped on, where kids blurted out excuses. This was- real. Something in my heart stirred.

"Alright, then call your mother," Jack said, oblivious to the tone.

My heart stopped at the silence.

"My mom is dead."

I sucked in a breath. My stomach took a twist, making it feel as if there was a bundle of nerves lodged into it. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I cursed myself for being so damn emotional. I didn't even know this girl.

"I'm sorry," Jack said after a lengthy silence. Then, "Forgive me for asking- but why can't you ask your father?"

There was a lull in the conversation.

"Mr. Newman-" the redhead started.

"There's a phone outside my office," Jack said to her, dismissing the start of a conversation. "I'd like to have a word with Marilyn."

I scrambled, quickly realizing the predicament I was in. I grabbed some papers and shuffled them, trying to look important. The redhead exited with a worried look on her face.

"The phone's over there," I told her, gesturing with my hand. I continued to listen on to the conversation. I couldn't just leave it there, after all.

"Marilyn, I'd like you to answer the question," Jack said.

After a cessation, there was a quiet voice. I leaned closer to hear it.

"I'm scared," Marilyn said softly.

"Of what?"

"Of what my father will do to me," she told him.

I bit my lip. Part of me wanted to hug Marilyn and the other part of me wanted to pry into the very depths of her soul. Right now, I was inclined to think that her fears were legitimate, but I wasn't sure.

Jack sighed. "I'm going to make you a deal, Marilyn," he said finally.

"Alright," Marilyn said cautiously.

"You won't have to call your father."

"Thank you!" Marilyn exclaimed.

"However, I must ask that you eat your lunches with the school psychologist."

"Why?" Marilyn asked. Her voice seemed very small.

"I want you to talk to Ms. Clark about the death of your mother and about the problems regarding your father," Jack replied matter-of-factly.

"But Mr. Newman, my mom died when I was two years old," Marilyn protested. "I hardly even knew her."

"And yet, you remember her," Jack said gently. "Marilyn, I know that there are some memories- perhaps even wispy blurs- that you can probably remember your mom in. And, I think that though you may not have known her, your father most likely did. I am voicing a possibility. If you would prefer to call your father, then, by all means, but right now I am exchanging a deal. Starting tomorrow, I want you to spend two weeks with Ms. Clark."

"Okay," Marilyn said quietly. "Okay."

I stopped, leaning against the wall. It wasn't any of my business, the family affairs of this Marilyn, but it still intrigued me. It was obvious that this mother of Marilyn had some impact on her family. It made me wonder what her father was like.

I shook my head, dismissing the thought.

After all, it wasn't any of my business.

Right?

REESE'S POV

**My heart ached for Lynnie.**

I had been Lyn's best friend since preschool. Even far back, in the primitive years of three-year olds, I remembered that her mom had been dead. The wound was fresh, then. She cried often and didn't really have any shoulders to sob on. Her grandmother didn't move to Boston from New York until Marilyn was eight, and by then the damage was already done. Sure, her grandmother visited every month, but it just wasn't the same.

I got the feeling that Marilyn was a lot different than most girls. While most preteens worried about grades, or making the basketball team, Marilyn worried about what her dad was mad at her for. She worried about concealing the bruise on her cheek. She worried about her eyes being red from crying.

If, in fact, she still cried.

Lyn had shut herself off from most of the world. I saw right through the façade she put up, but regardless of her empty jokes on her clumsiness, or her 'insanity', there was this sort of vibe of- loneliness.

I had met her dad a few times, and he had instantly rubbed me the wrong way. He was this older, good-looking guy with dark brown-black hair and bright green eyes. His eyes were actually unsettling, considering I saw them on Lyn all the time.

Her dad had just been rude. Like he didn't even care about Lyn. There weren't even any pictures of her mom on the walls, or anything, though I assume her mom had the same pretty figure and gorgeous hair I was so envious of. I also suspected that her mom had the nice personality.

In fact, I was intrigued as to why Lyn's mother and father fit together. Lyn had to get the niceness from somewhere, and it sure as hell wasn't from her dad. I wondered if Lyn's mom had brought out the light in her dad. Brought out something good inside; made him a better person. I really wish I could have met Lyn's mom, to ask her questions about why the hell she ever got into a relationship with Lyn's father.

As my brain rambles, I dial my mom's number on the phone. Mom had never been excluded from the soap opera that was Lynnie's life on a regular basis. She had been the mom to Lyn that my friend had never possessed herself.

I hear the dial tone ring, and then the short burst of brief static as Mom picks up.

"Hey," I venture.

I hear her sigh through the phone. "What happened this time, Reese?" she asks. It was fairly normal for me to be called. I wasn't called to the office every week; or anything that dramatic, though I usually made a visitation once per month. Lyn was the better influence on me.

"I swore in front of the gym teacher," I told her.

I hear Mom laughing. She had a mouth like a sailor. "Res, if you're going to swear, then perhaps refrain from doing so in front of the teacher." She sighs. "You do realize I'm going to have to punish you for this."

"Yeah, I figured," I say regretfully.

Mom sighs. "You have to quit doing this, Reese. You've been throwing your dad and me through a loop with all of your calls to the office."

"I know, and I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't change things, Reese," Mom says sadly. Then, there was another sigh. "You're grounded for the week."

I slumped. That was fair, regardless of my inner desires to protest. "Alright."

"Bye, Reese," Mom says, a melancholy undertone to her voice.

I hang up, clicking the phone back onto the receiver. Stupid Miss Fisherman. Bitchy spinster. Just then, I heard the click of a door opening and closing. I see Lyn standing there, looking genuinely upset.

"Verdict?" I ask her as soon as she's within earshot.

"I have to go to the psychologist every lunch for two weeks."

The news hits me suddenly. Then, surprisingly, I find myself nodding. "Look," I sigh. "I know you may not like to hear this, Lynnie, but it may be for the best."

"Traitor," Lyn mutters.

"It'll be good for you," I say, slugging her playfully on the shoulder. "You'll see."

Lyn raises an eyebrow. "Odd as this may seem, I'm not really looking forward to spilling out my guts to Ms. Clark."

"You need someone to talk to, though," I tell her thoughtfully. "Someone either than me who can really help you with this bullshit."

"Reese," Lyn says. "You just got yelled at for swearing."

"And I'm going to get yelled at again," I say matter-of-factly. "It's a fact of life, Lynnie. It's something I'm not going to change. It's part of who I am."

"You sound like a deranged cat poster," Lyn says, rolling her eyes.

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"You know, one of those posters with the kittens and the motivational inscriptions positioned on the bottom. There was one at our book fair that read 'believe'."

I laugh, catching onto the joke. "I'm serious, though."

"What if I don't want to change the sad fact that is my terms with my dad?" Lyn challenges. "It's part of who I am."

"Lyn, don't joke about that. No kid should have to deal with any of that bullshit. Yell at me for swearing all you like, but you should not have to put up with him. You need to figure this out." I stop for a second. "Lyn, do you have any family besides your grandparents?"

Lyn furrows her eyebrows. "No, I don't think so. My dad was an only child, so…"

"No, I mean on your mom's side of the family."

"I don't really know," Lyn said honestly. "Father never really talks about her."

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully.

"What?" Lyn put her arms on her hips.

"Nothing."

"Reese, spit it out before I make you."

I raise an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm terrified."

"Reese."

"Fine," I say. "Look- I was just wondering- your dad never talks about your mom, right? It makes me wonder if he's still hurting for her."

"Eleven years later?" Lyn snorts. "I really doubt my parents loved each other that much."

"It's a possibility, that's all I'm saying."

"And a stupid one," Lyn says.

"Not really, if you think about it. Your dad's pretty screwed up, yeah? And pretty young as well- what, thirty-six? It's possible, Lynnie, you have to admit. Your mom died in a car crash, didn't she?"

Lyn frowned. "I- I don't really know. I've never asked."

"You should," I tell her.

Lyn sighs. "Actually, I think I will."

"C'mon," I say. "Let's go kick Billy Hobbs's ass for laughing at us."

PERCY'S POV

**I lean over my papers.**

The absurd number of paperwork crowds my desk. My office isn't much; really just a room filled with my mahogany desk, cluttered as usual. My Mac sits open before me, shedding light onto the plain grey walls.

I sigh, throwing down my pencil. I run a hand through my hair. My dyslexia made it a constant challenge to get any work done, and by the time I collapsed into bed at the end of the day, I was exhausted.

I hadn't needed to go into the office today, though I was still working. Frowning, I tried to resume my numbers without any success. They swam around in my head, floating and dancing.

There was a knock at my door, and I paused, looking up from my pencil. I shrugged at the time: 4:30. It wasn't nearly dinner time, and it made me wonder who was knocking.

"Come in," I call, leaning back in my chair leisurely. I regret the offer, wanting to rescind it immediately as soon as I see the figure in the doorway.

"Actually- I had a question," Marilyn asks tentatively.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Please, not now. I'm- busy."

"No, please, I really have something I wanted to ask you," she pleads.

I check my watch and heave another sigh. "You have five minutes."

Marilyn exhales, clearly relieved. "Look- I was just wondering- there's this thing at school-"

"Marilyn."

"Yes?" she asks, snapping her head up to look at me.

"Complete your main idea. I can gather the fragments," I tell her, checking my watch again. I was still in the process of checking it when she asked.

"I was wondering about my mother."

For a moment, my heart stopped, plummeting into my stomach. A barrage of unwanted memories clouds my vision, sending me years back in time. Twenty years, to be exact.

"_Seaweed brain?"_

"_Yeah, wise girl?"_

"_I love you."_

A lump arises in my throat, and I push it back down with some difficulty. Some days, the flashbacks were more painful, more real, suffocating me. Other days, they were hazy memories. Today was one of the real days.

"Father?" Marilyn asks, oblivious.

"No," I finally say, my voice strained.

"What?" Marilyn is standing, clearly shocked.

"No." My voice is stronger this time.

"I think I have a right to know about my mother, Father. I think I deserve the right to at least know her name, or how she died-"

"_I said no_!" I shout, pushing myself up from my desk with a violent clatter.

Marilyn backs away, her eyes wide. "Fine," she mutters.

"Yes, _fine_," I said, my eyes livid. "This is a closed discussion, Marilyn Jackson. I should hope that you never bring it up again."

"I won't," Marilyn says, her voice trembling. She backs out of the room. "You can be sure of it, I promise you."

She shuts the door with a clatter.

I sit once more, feeling as if I had just been run over by a semi-truck. My heart thuds, making a monotonous rhythm. I couldn't talk about my wife. I just couldn't.

I wouldn't.

WILL'S POV

**I sit down with a sigh.**

We were still in the process of moving in, and, as such, we were forced to eat outside of our house. The kitchen appliances that my parents had ordered were still on their way, so, thus, here we were, all six of us, eating at T.G.I. Friday's.

We squeezed ourselves into a corner booth, which, surprisingly enough, was decently roomy. I picked up the menu, trying to read the inscriptions. Not surprisingly enough, I soon gave up.

Caroline squinted her eyes at the menu, trying longer and harder than Janie or I had. Reid, who wasn't even expected to read yet, had gleefully turned over his kids menu to Piper, who was leaning back in an effort to decipher.

The troubles of dyslexia inhibited our life daily, and it brought me back to the strange girl Reese had mentioned in science class- Lyn? I wasn't quite sure, but I shrugged. The waiter came up to our table, and I figured I could talk about it over dinner.

"Hello, my name's Georgia, and I'll be your waiter for tonight," a middle-aged lady with graying hair droned.

I almost laughed at her obvious disgust to be working at six o'clock on a Monday night, but refrained with some trouble. She just had this expression on her face- her nose was wrinkled up, and her mouth was twisted with contempt and disdain.

Piper and Jason saw it as well, and Piper pursed her lips. "Thank you," Jason said stiffly. "We'd actually like to order drinks and an appetizer, thanks."

"'K," the waitress said, snapping her gum. She pointed a finger at Piper, nearest the edge of the booth on the opposite side. "Drink?"

"Water's fine, thanks," Piper said.

"Sprite," Reid ordered. At Piper's raised eyebrow, he added hastily, "Please."

"Lemonade, _please_," Janie said, buttering on the 'please'. Piper glared at her maliciously.

"Coca-Cola, thanks," I told her, crossing my arms. I would be damned if I gave her any respect. Apparently, Piper's narrowed eyes were following through the promise of damnation.

Caroline sighed, ever the mature one. "Water, with a lemon, please."

"Water, again, thanks," Jason told Georgia, snapping shut the menu. "And an order of mozzarella sticks, thank you."

"'K," Georgia said, scribbling down the orders. "Just to be clear- three waters, a Sprite, a lemonade, a Coca-Cola, and an order of mozzarella sticks." The statement was poised as more of a question, and we all nodded in unison. "Alright." The waitress bustled off.

"Do you all have your orders?" Jason asked, scanning all of our faces cryptically.

I slumped, figuring I would get the same order as always. A cheeseburger and fries. Not particularly exciting, but edible, a welcome change from the bizarre works of Freddie and Bertha.

"Yep," we all chorused. We were programmed to handle cheeseburgers at restaurants like these. Ninety percent of the time, wonderful meat patties were present in the menu.

"So," Piper said, snapping down her menu, "how was school?" The question was directed at Reid. It was a tradition in our family, the night after we moved: around in a circle, youngest to oldest, describing in _intense _detail your day.

While Reid rambled on about circle time, I thought again of the girl named Marilyn. Dyslexia and ADHD- that couldn't be a coincidence, right? Besides the fact that she was infinitely smart. I would think Athena, but her eyes had been an intense green. I shrugged, figuring I would talk to my parents about it after we got home from the restaurant.

"Will?"

I snapped my head up from my thoughts, and then waved sheepishly. "Oh- sorry."

Piper just rolled her eyes. "How was your day?"

"Ah- you know, pretty uneventful-"

"William, you're a terrible liar," Jason said, a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"I know," I said, scratching the back of my neck. When I didn't elaborate further, Piper opened her mouth, looking as if she were going to press for more information. Thankfully, I was saved by Georgia, the evil waitress-troll, arriving with our drinks.

"Six drinks?" Georgia ventured, handing out cups.

"Thanks," I muttered, accepting my coke. The entire dinner, though, I felt my parents' eyes on me, watching carefully.

_One hour and thirty-four minutes later, in the Grace household_

"Explain, William," Piper said, sitting down on her couch. My parents had set up most of the big pieces of furniture with the help of our servants, and she reclined next to Jason on their couch in their bedroom, arms crossed.

"Look," I began, eyes downcast. "I- there was this girl, in my science class-"

"Oh, really?" Piper asked, her eyes excited. I frowned at her. That is what you get when you have Aphrodite for a grandmother.

"Yes, but not about _that_," I muttered. She had been really, really pretty, that was true, but- uh. Never mind that. "She had both dyslexia and ADHD, and she was super-smart. I think she might be- you know."

"A demigod?" Jason mused, rubbing his chin. "It's possible. What did she look like?"

"See, that's the thing," I continued. "She had the hair, the smarts, the general traits of an Athena child- but she had these green eyes. These really, really, really bright green eyes."

Piper dropped the glass that she was sipping water with. It fell to the floor with a clatter, shattering all over the floor. Jason was standing, wide-eyed, and he stood, running a hand through his hair.

"Green eyes?" he asked, pacing, ignoring the glass. "You're sure?"

"Um- yeah, pretty sure," I said, confused.

Piper turned to Jason. "You don't think-"

"No," Jason said, leaning back into the couch. He turned to me. "What was this girl's name?" he inquired.

"Uh- Marilyn, I think?"

"Holy shit," Piper whispered. I frowned. This seemed to shake them up pretty badly, and I hadn't the slightest idea why.

"What?" I asked.

"It's nothing," Jason said, his voice shaky. "Nothing, William. Go to bed. Just a normal girl who happens to have dyslexia and ADHD, I'm sure."

"Dad, you can't just tell me to go to bed after you look like you've just seen a ghost," I complain. Then my eyes widen. "She's not a ghost, is she?"

"No, no," Piper laughs weakly. "Just- she sounds like someone we used to know."

"Bed, now," Jason commands.

"You can't leave me hanging there!" I shout, surprised by my parents' cruelty. Honestly.

"I can, and I will, William Grace. Bed. Now."

"Fine!" I yell, storming out of the room. If they didn't want to tell me, fine. I would figure it out, though.

I would.

JASON'S POV

**My hands shake.**

"You don't think it's her, do you?" Piper asks, eyes wide.

"I don't know," I admit grimly. "I just don't know."

"Jase," Piper says suddenly. "If she really is Marilyn Jackson, than her father would be-"

"Perseus Jackson," I say, rubbing my face. "If this Marilyn is who we think she is, she is the descendant of one of the most powerful demigods in history."


	5. Chapter 5: Psychologists and Puzzles

A/N: Sorry! I have a plot line for this story; it's just actually phrasing it that's giving me trouble. I'm trying to make it my life's mission to update this every week- I can't promise that, but I'll try.

To random Guest: Just hold tight, and keep reading!

Anyway… here we go with Chapter Five…

* * *

Chapter Five

MARILYN'S POV

**She's got to be kidding me.**

I sit in English class, staring at the ceiling, contemplating the mysteries that is my sucky life, and then Ms. Greene just decides to make it worse. You know, I think when she woke up this morning, she thought to herself, hmm, you know, I think I'll go make some eighth graders' lives miserable.

Then she went about making misery. I'm pretty sure she pulled out her big book titled 'Gruesome Punishments for Innocent Eighth Grade Students' and flipped to a random page. Ms. Green probably then went to her large cauldron of evilness, or LCA, and then proceeded to make a diabolical potion. She then chanted the magic words, and, _voila_, misery for ninety eighth grade students.

Ugh. I hate my life.

I gaze at the title on the board. _Write three pages about your frustrations. _Goddammit. Really, Greene? Frustrations? Where do I even shitting begin? My father, there's one. I'm frustrated at the fact that my mom's not around, more so than sad. I didn't know the woman, after all. I'm frustrated that my grandparents always seem obliged to carry my burden for my bitch of a goddamned father. I'm frustrated that I let him goddamn push me around.

Goddammit, Greene.

I look at my three pages of copy paper and rub my eyes. This was going to be partial to impossible for me anyway, with my dyslexia. I felt like crying. I had gotten about two hours of sleep last night, with my father's absurd rant. I hadn't eaten dinner, or breakfast, so I felt like my stomach was going to eat me alive. Except for, you know, I probably won't eat goddamned lunch goddamned either, with the stupid psychologist. I felt like chucking a brick at the goddamned wall. I was so sick and tired of my goddamned life. In short: _goddammit._

My hand trembled from lack of sleep and nerves. I made a face. It would be nice if Jenny gave me a cup of coffee once in a while, you know, just to wake me up. I consider this. Coffee. Hmm. That sounded really good right about then.

I groaned and leaned onto my hands, letting my tangled hair fall into my face. I was so past caring my wild mane of evilness. It hated me. I hated it. The feeling was mutual.

There was a soft thump as someone sat in the desk next to me. I looked up, brushing a few stray curls out of my face. I frowned, seeing the new boy from science- Walter? Will? I think it was Wally- sitting next to me. He grinned.

"Having trouble as well, then?" he said, quirking a lopsided smile.

I raised my eyebrows. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

"I dunno. Do you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm alotta things, but a mind reader's not one of 'em."

I rolled my eyes. "Wally, I think. Yes, I know of you. Personally? Nope. Not at all. I would think that you'd know that, being, oh, you know, there. If I were to meet you, that is," I said- well, stammered. Wally really was attractive, up close.

"Unless you brainwashed me," Wally said, smirking. "And it's Will, by the way. Apparently, you don't even know of me."

Ew. He was also an asshole, that Wally. Uh- Will. I sigh. I might as well just call him Wally; I was never going to remember Will. "Nope, I'm pretty sure it's Wally. And since we've established the firm point that I don't in fact know you, of or otherwise, why are you talking to me?"

Wally grinned. "Nope, I'm positive my name's Will. I should know. Mummy dear showed me my birth certificate."

I swallowed a lump in my throat. I had altogether way too many mummy problems. "Good for you," I said curtly.

There was a pause, and then Wally furrowed his eyebrows. "What? That's it? 'Good for you'. Really?"

I slap down my pencil, which had been poised in my hand, ready to write. "Yes. That's it. What else do you want, Wally?"

"Will."

"Well, I'm going to call you Wally, so tough. What else do you want? I think you're wonderful? You make me think of rainbows and ponies?"

"Rainbows and ponies?" Wally said incredulously.

"Oh, I don't know, Wally! Hard as it is to believe, I'm not a mind reader either," I said exasperatedly.

Wally made a sour face. "Touché. But seriously- what happened to the badgering of 'why the hell are you talking to me'?"

"Language, Wallace," I chided. Then I sighed, leaning back in my chair. I crossed my arms expectantly. "Well? Why are you talking to me?"

"First off, you sound like my mother," Wally said. "Secondly, I was wondering if you were having some trouble as well."

"Yes, I got that from the whole 'having trouble as well, then' sentence," I said dryly. "Honestly, yes, I am, so I would really appreciate it if you left me alone." I began to write. _My frutsaroins rea- _

Crap.

"Gods, now you're really starting to sound like my mother," Wally said.

"Yes, I get it. I'm similar to a woman who had the unfortunateness to bear you for a son," I told him, shaking my head. "Now leave me alone."

"I will have you know that my mother adores me," Wally said in mock outrage. "Wait- actually, I think my mom hates me right now. She's got it out for me, you know. Moving for the second time this year."

"How sad," I say unsympathetically. "Poor you, having a mom like that."

Wally raises his eyebrows. "Are you implying that my mom doesn't have it out for me?"

"Oh, my God," I said. "Leave. Me. Alone."

"You're not going to get anywhere anyway," Will said, snatching my paper away from my hands.

"Hey!" I protested.

"Really? My frutsaroins rea? That sounds like a lethal disease, Marilyn," he told me.

"Thanks. I happen to have dyslexia. And how do you know my name?" I demanded. As far as I knew, I really hadn't met this creep. Right now, I was wishing I hadn't ever met him.

"Reese," he said by way of explanation. "She's my lab partner in science."

I straightened. "Why the hell were you talking about me?"

"Language, Marilyn," he said with a smug smile. "And Reese was whining about you being the only one with the answers to the inhuman questions. You have dyslexia, right?"

"Yes. No need to rub it in, Sherlock." I turned to the paper, wishing I didn't need to write this stupid paper.

"No, no, I wasn't offending you! I have dyslexia too," Wally said. "It's- kind of a family thing. Both of my parents have it, and all of my siblings, as well."

I hated him. _Two _parents _and _siblings? Life just wasn't fair. Still, he did have dyslexia as well. Hmm. "Really?"

"Yep. Is your dyslexia genetic as well?" Wally asked, looking at me curiously.

I frowned. "Well, that's personal, now isn't it?"

"I told you that mine is genetic. I don't see why you won't tell me," he complained.

I narrowed my eyes. "I don't know whether my father is dyslexic or not because he hates me, and my mother died when I was two years old. As far as I know, my grandparents aren't dyslexic. Good enough for you?"

There was a silence. And then a reproachful nod. "What do you know about your mother?"

I let my mouth fall open. "What the hell is the matter with you? What part of 'she died when I was two years old' do you not understand?"

He shrugged. "My older sister says that I have a lot that's the matter with me."

"Smart girl, then," I muttered.

"Look, really. What do you know about your mom? Her name?" he prodded.

"I don't know what her name was. The whole 'my father hates me'? Jesus Christ, Wally, if you're going to be an insensitive bitch, then at least keep up!"

He flinched. "Really, I have my reasons. What do you know about your mom?"

I glared. "Not much." I thought to my father's shouting last night. I scratched the back of my head. "Actually, nothing at all," I sighed.

Wally smiled. "Have you tried asking your dad?"

"Why the hell do you care, you jackass?" I hissed. "Stay the _fuck _away from me, do you understand?" I grabbed the front of his shirt. "I don't know you, and I don't _want _to know you. So stay the _fuck _away."

Wally's eyes widened as Ms. Greene walked to the front of the class. "Tomorrow, I expect those essays, completed and polished. This will be for an accuracy grade, keep in mind." She looked at the clock. "You are dismissed."

Shit.

Bye, creepy Wally, hello, Ms. Clark.

You know what? I'm actually not sure which I prefer.

Conclusion #6: I hate my life.

* * *

MS. BETH CLARK'S POV

**I wave to the boy leaving my office.**

I sigh, watching Adam Cress walk away. It broke my heart to hear some of these kids' cases. This boy's parents were going through a tough divorce, and it was my job to make sure that this didn't impact him for the rest of his life. I ran a hand through my greying hair. It didn't matter what the case was; kids shouldn't have to deal with that kind of nonsense. They were kids. When they became adults, then they would deal with their own problems, but for now, they were being brought up to be kind, and good, and have the ability to deal with those problems.

I walk back into my office. It wasn't necessarily a big work space, just my cherry wood desk, my comfortable armchair, and a large, red couch. Everything in my office was organized and color-coded to perfection. It gave me OCD to see messiness.

I checked my whiteboard. I had already seen three students today: Evans, Georgia, 9:00, Harrison, Zack, 9:30, and Cress, Adam, 10:30. Now eleven, I frowned at the new name on my whiteboard. Jackson, Marilyn, 11:00. Hmm. This would be interesting, that much was certain.

I pull out a manila folder in my cabinet. I remembered Jack Newman coming to me yesterday, handing me this social information. _"This girl needs help," _he had said, and then left. I had shrugged my shoulders, taking whatever he wanted to give me.

Now, I read over the information. This Marilyn apparently had a dead mother and a presumed abusive father. I furrowed my eyebrows. This wasn't going to be a pretty session, I could already tell.

There was a knock on my door, and I slapped the folder shut quickly. I mustered my confidence. "Come in," I called.

A small girl entered the room. She was intensely beautiful, with pretty golden curls like a princess, and really bright, luminous green eyes. She was really quite tiny, no bigger than five feet at the most.

I had acquired a skill that allowed me to read people. I could see right past the façades that some kids put up, looking into their eyes to see pain that they sometimes harbored. I looked into this girl's eyes, and was blown away. She looked to be fiery, strong- almost angry. I smiled. I liked that in a person.

"You must be Marilyn. Please, sit," I said, gesturing to the couch.

Marilyn complied. She sat there and crossed her arms, and I got an uncomfortable feeling. Like _she _was reading me over, instead of the opposite. It was not a pleasant feeling.

"Well," I finally managed, sitting down in my own armchair, "tell me about yourself."

Marilyn shrugged. "My name is Marilyn Elise Jackson. I am thirteen and three months old. My birthday is May fourteenth. I am dyslexic and have ADHD, but love to read and learn. I enjoy violin, as I have played since first grade. I also enjoy soccer; I play with my best friend, Reese Bridget Winters. I play select, and often tag along with my friend to all games and tournaments." She leaned back in her chair. "My favorite food is pancakes. My favorite color is blue. My favorite animal is an owl, or possibly a horse, as I also do horseback riding." She shrugged. "What else do you want to know?"

I stared at her in wonder. This girl was different than all the others. "Tell me about your family."

"Okay. My mother died when I was two years old. I don't know anything about her, so don't ask, as my father always gets touchy about the subject. My father hates me, by the way. I don't know why; he just does. I have a set of grandparents. My gran's name is Sally Blofis, and my grandfather's name is Paul Blofis, as my gran remarried after my biological grandfather died." Marilyn's gaze was unnerving. "As far as I know, my mother had no living relations when she died, and my father was an only child. What else do you want to know?"

I stared at her in wonder. I saw the façade now. "Tell me about your father, then."

She swallowed. I saw the first bits of weakening. "Okay. He's a famous marine biologist. He travels all around the world to aquariums. As far as I know, he's never had any relations with anyone but my mother. His name is Percy Jackson. Perhaps you've heard of him."

I nodded. I had. "What makes you think that he hates you?"

Marilyn looked ill. "He never talks to me unless absolutely necessary. He punishes me for standing out in class. When I was in fourth grade, I got a trophy for my soccer tournament, but all he ever did was take it away, saying I didn't deserve it. He said- it was a team effort, I think, and I shouldn't have a trophy." Finally, she sighed, and held out her wrist. I sucked in a breath. A huge, ugly, blotchy bruise was there. "That was from him grabbing me, trying to make me shut up. I forget when it was." She shook her head. "He hates me. I told you. I don't know why, he just does."

Wow. Alright, then. So that was the situation with this girl. "What does it make you feel when your father hates you?"

"Seriously?" Marilyn asked incredulously. "It makes me feel like no one cares. Which, I suppose, is the truth. More than anything else, I suppose I'm just frustrated." She snorted, like sharing some inside joke with herself.

I looked at her, and then gave a soft sigh. "Alright. Moving on to your mother, I suppose. What do you know about her?"

Marilyn glared at me. "I thought we've been through this. I know nothing. Nada, zip, zero. All I really remember are these blurry wisps, like strawberry fields and laughter."

"Her name?" I prodded.

"I don't know her name. Like I said, I don't know _anything _about her."

I stared at her in disbelief. "Nothing?"

"Yes. Nothing," she said, frowning.

"Okay. Have you tried to ask your father about her?" I asked, searching into her eyes.

"Yes. It didn't go well," she said curtly, and I remembered her wrist.

Hmm. I hadn't known all of this about Percy Jackson. He was a relatively well-known man, and I made a mental note to see what his Wikipedia page said about him. I checked the clock. It read 11:20.

I bit my lip. "Alright. That's all I need from you today, I think," I told her.

Marilyn nodded, and rose. She made to exit the room, and then turned on me. "Just so we're clear- I'm not some science fair project. I'm perfectly fine the way I am. Keeping that in mind- thank you."

She exited the room, leaving me speechless.

I narrowed my eyes.

This was a big project, to be sure.

* * *

WILL'S POV

**I didn't touch my ginger-apple stir fry.**

It wasn't that it was just incredibly unappetizing. I kept thinking back to Marilyn Jackson. She had all the tell-tale signs of a demigod. Her mom was missing, for one. Her dad was dodgy. She was incredibly smart.

I had scared her off, that was for sure, but I had what I needed. She was obviously a demigod. My parents were hiding something, and I intended to figure it out. I stared into space at my lunch table, pondering who Marilyn Jackson was.

She was pretty enough to be a child of Aphrodite, easy. I was tempted to say Athena; as she was smart enough, but she didn't have the eyes. Marilyn could be an anomaly, that was for sure, and I was a little puzzled as to why she wasn't claimed yet. She could be Apollo- that hair of hers would match, for sure.

I shrugged. All that mattered was that she was a demigod, and my parents were infantile sneaks. I had to figure this crap out. The only thing that made me hesitate were her eyes. I had never seen any like that before. With my fathers 'green eyes- you're positive' I was even surer that they were important.

I racked my brains. There was something about this girl that I just couldn't place. Something big, something important, that I was missing, and it bothered me. It bothered me even more that my parents had the answer. I promised myself I would badger them. Perhaps not now, but later.

Marilyn Jackson was a puzzle, and I was missing pieces.

* * *

REESE'S POV

**"So that's it?" I sputtered.**

We were at soccer practice, and I kicked a ball with all my might into the goal. I whirled on Marilyn. "I was biting my fricking nails off all day for that?"

"Um- yeah," Marilyn said, shrugging helplessly. She kicked another ball, putting it directly in the corner of the goal. "The psychologist just asked me a bunch of questions, and, uh, yeah. That's it, I guess."

"Oh, my God," I said, completely disgusted. "I waited all day for 'a few questions'."

"Yes, Reese. For once, my life isn't some drama sitcom. Surprisingly enough, I'm actually glad. I could do with a bit of normal for once."

"Normal? No! You are my entertainment! You are the pinnacle of my recreational hours! You keep me coming back to school! Your drama is hilarious," I complain, sending another ball flying.

"I'm glad that my private life was so interesting," Marilyn said dryly, popping another soccer ball into the goal.

"Can I get a break here?" Vickie, the goalie, called.

"Nope," I answered. Then I turned to Marilyn. "Seriously, though, you have issues. Major issues. This psychologist is obviously a phony if that's what she's asking."

"Relax, Reese. I've still got two more weeks, remember? I'm sure she'll come up with some alternative to make my life miserable, don't you worry," Marilyn said, rolling her eyes.

"Fine," I said sulkily.

"On other news," Marilyn continued, "your lover boy's a stalker."

I snorted. "No he's not."

"Au contraire, friend," Marilyn said. "He walked up to me in class and started asking me all these questions about my family life."

I glared at her. "He probably just has a crush on you."

"What? What the hell are you talking about, Reese?" Marilyn demanded, sending another ball flying. It flew over the goal and she cursed.

"Thanks!" Vickie called, shooting us a thumbs-up.

"Can it!" I shouted. I then turned towards Marilyn with a grimace. I shook my head at her and chucked a ball at her face. "Shut up. You know exactly why Will has a crush on you, you big Mary-Sue."

Marilyn gasped. "Oh, you did _not _just pull the Mary-Sue card!"

"I did," I said triumphantly.

"Oh, it's on, Winters!" Marilyn said. She picked up a soccer ball from the field and wielded it like a weapon.

"Ah!" I shrieked, running away from her. Marilyn could be quite scary, I'm telling you.

"Girls!" Coach Peterson yelled. "Get it together, please!"

We froze, turning around with guilty smiles on our faces. "Sorry, Coach," I shouted back. "Won't happen again!" I hope. I want to live to see my fourteenth birthday this July. I rather like birthday parties. And cake. Especially cake. Angel cake…

"You wish," Marilyn muttered while stalking off. She made the 'I'm watching you' sign with her fingers and I gulped. Better tell Mummy dear to cancel the cake now, as I won't be alive to eat that wonderful cake. Ah. Cake.

"Now," Coach said with a sadist smile, "two laps."

Ugh. I really hate him.

* * *

**"Hey, hon," Mom said.**

"Ugh," I replied, stripping off my shin guards. I shook my head. I literally had to peel them off, they were so soaked with sweat and dirt.

She laughed. "Bad practice?"

"You could call it that." I looked up at her with my best puppy eyes. "I'm just going to go relax and play video games, if that's alright with you…"

"Mm-hmm," Mom said. "Room, young lady."

I groaned. "But these may be my last living moments! Lynnie's gonna kill me soon, you hear? You _hear_?"

Mom just chuckled. "What did you do this time?"

"Why is it always me? I swear to God, that Mary-Sue bitch has it coming for her," I growled. Marilyn, the Mary-Sue. Ha! It was even in the name. **Mari**lyn, **Mary**-Sue: practically the same thing.

"Wow. That was certainly vehement," Mom said, her eyes searching. Then she sighed. "Sit."

"So I'm not grounded?" I queried hopefully.

"I didn't say that," Mom said, wiping her hands on her apron. "You just sound like you needed to talk."

I sighed and sat on one of our kitchen table chairs. "Just to be clear, this is awesome, but Halo would be even better…"

"So? Who is this boy?" Mom interrupted, a knowing smile on her face.

"What? How did you know?" I stared at her. Mummy dear apparently had some psychic powers.

"Mothers can just tell these things," Mom said. "What's his name? Is he cute?"

I grinned. "Yeah. His name is Will Grace, and he's new. He's cute, yeah."

Mom paled. "Say that name again?"

"Will Grace?" I asked. Mom had this strange look on her face.

"Oh, my gods. After all these years-" Mom whispered, her face taking on a greenish tinge. I just raised an eyebrow. Mummy dear was starting to scare me.

"What?" I demanded, dumbfounded.

Mom looked at me strangely. She bit her lip. "Don't be jealous of Marilyn, Reese."

"What?" I was getting really tired of saying that. I was just about at the end of my rope, and I wanted answers. Mummy dear was starting to resemble an insolent sneak.

She just gave a faraway look and shook her head. "Things are about to come crashing down, Reese, if I'm correct in my hunch."

"Huh?"

"A fragile equilibrium is about to be broken," she murmured. "Things will come crashing down, all around him. It's over. The secrets are finished. They're here."

"What the _hell _are you talking about?" I shouted.

"Room. I do believe you're grounded, young lady," Mom simply said, standing up. She resumed washing the dishes.

"What?" I muttered to myself.

"Room," Mom chided.

I stormed up without another word, left to the mysteries. 'A fragile equilibrium will be broken?' What in the hell was she talking about? I was so confused, my mind was spinning. Yet, I had this hunch. A sneaking suspicion was forming in my mind, one that I couldn't find the answers to.

I had the feeling that this was just the beginning of something huge.

* * *

PIPER'S POV

**I sighed.**

The house wasn't even close to being unpacked. I felt delirious from stress at this point. The kids were killing me. I loved my children to death, but they were a bit much to handle sometimes. I rubbed my eyes. I was so worried about them.

Someone put their arms on my waist, and I relaxed. "Hey, Jason," I whispered, turning around.

"Hey," he said, kissing my cheek.

I broke away reluctantly, sitting down on the couch. Jason sat next to me, wrapping his arms around me. He looked into my eyes concernedly. "You okay?" he asked, pushing my hair out of my eyes.

I smiled. "Yeah. Just- tired. And stressed. Stressed, mostly."

He tightened his grip. "Look," he started with a guilty face.

I felt like crying. "You have another business trip, don't you?" It came out more accusatory than I expected, but I was at the end of my rope. I couldn't handle children by myself. I had Quinn, of course, but she was off on the weekends. Shit. My stomach felt hollow.

He slumped. "Yeah."

"How long?" I inquired quietly. I just needed a break. A little rest. Caroline was great, helping sometimes, but she had homework. Things just didn't always go as planned.

Jason winced. "A month."

"_What_?" I whirled on him. "A month?"

"George just asked me to go to a month-long convention in Atlanta," Jason explained. "I tried to turn him down, but he threatened my job."

"Goddammit," I muttered, rubbing my forehead.

"I'm so sorry," Jason said weakly.

I shook my head. "Don't be sorry." I kissed him softly. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," I marveled.

"Yeah," he grimaced.

Shit. I had a month to take care of my kids. A month. By myself. I also had to run my business out of my home. Four kids. A business. I also had a house to unpack, a community to merge, parent teacher conferences in a week or so. Shit.

I took a deep breath. Then I looked sharply into his eyes. "Fine. I just have one condition," I said.

"Anything," he agreed immediately.

A mischievous smile spread across my face. "Tonight," I murmured, pulling him closer, "you're mine."

Jason grinned.

* * *

PERCY'S POV

**I drummed my fingers on my desk.**

I was about ready to chuck my paperwork at the wall. Why paperwork was involved in marine biology, I wasn't completely certain. Yet, here I was, doing two days' work of paperwork.

My phone rang, and I sighed in relief. Thank gods. A sorely needed distraction. I picked up the phone.

"Hello. Jackson residence. Who is currently speaking?" I asked.

"This is Beth Clark, the psychologist at Marilyn's school. Is this Perseus Jackson?"

I sucked in a breath. I wasn't expecting that. I frowned. When my daughter got home, she was dead meat. "This is Perseus Jackson. How may I help you?" I said coolly.

There was an audible sigh from the other end of the line. "Mr. Jackson, are you aware that your daughter is coming to me for help?"

"No. No, actually, I wasn't." Oh, my daughter was in so much trouble.

"Are you aware of the circumstances of this prospect?" Beth inquired.

"No. This is all news to me, Ms. Clark," I said, leaning back in my chair. Why was my daughter so goddamn difficult all the time?

"Well, it seems that she and her friend were sent to the principal's office under terms of swearing. It also seems that your daughter weaseled her way out of a phone call to you by telling the principal, Jack Newman, that she was afraid of you. The compromise was to send Marilyn to me and except her of a phone call."

My mind was spinning. That girl had better be praying for her life. "When was this?"

"Yesterday," Beth replied. "I just had a few questions about your wife to ask you, as our first psychology session was today."

I froze.

"Hello?" Beth continued. "Is anyone there?"

Slowly, I put the phone back onto the receiver. My daughter was in so much trouble when she got home. I shook my head. There was no way in hell that I was sharing my life story with some school psychologist. That's what I would have to do to tell anyone about my wife, after all.

My chest squeezed together. I closed my eyes. My wife had been my life. She was there, in every memory, somehow. It was hard to remember a time without her. My wife was everything to me.

I perked up at the sound of a door shutting and closing. I made a fist. Marilyn. My daughter. I frowned. She was grounded for three months, with this goddamn stunt she pulled.

"Hello, Marilyn," I heard Jenny greet. "How was soccer practice?"

I frowned. Perhaps I would take away soccer. Or her violin. Gods, I was so damn angry. I stood, pushing myself out of my chair. I had a fight to pick with my goddamn daughter. She was so difficult sometimes.

I walked out into my front hallway and looked at my muddy aberration of a daughter coated in mud. I smiled in grim satisfaction. It would be the last time she was that muddy in a long time; I would make absolutely certain of it.

"Marilyn," I said coldly.

Marilyn shot her head up. "Yes, Father?" She sounded wary- she probably already knew what I was about to say.

"Jenny, I need to have a word with my daughter," I said quickly, dismissing the housemaid with a flick of my hand. Jenny nodded, giving me a curious look, and then sped away.

"So," I began, as soon as I was certain that Jenny was out of earshot, "you didn't feel the need to tell me about the principal's office? Or the psychologist?"

Marilyn stared at me with the expression of a deer caught in the headlights. I shook my head. "What the hell were you thinking?" She was still silent. "I just got a call from Ms. Clark, and she asked me about my wife!"

Marilyn snapped her head up. "She did?"

"Yes, Marilyn, and I'd like an explanation," I spat.

"I could ask the same of you," she countered. "An explanation about my mother, perhaps? It seems to me like you're already pretty well educated on the whole subject of school."

I shook my head. "Room. Now."

Marilyn started for the stairs, and then turned to me with a shake of her head. "You know what? I'd like to know my mother's name. I'm not going anywhere until then."

"Excuse me?"

"I want to know her name," Marilyn said. "I am thirteen goddamn years old, and I don't know my own mother's name!"

"That's wonderful, Marilyn. Now go upstairs to your room _now_."

"No!" she shouted. "I'm serious about this!"

"There is no way in _hell _I am _ever _telling you her name!" I yelled. There was the sound of a glass of water shattering upstairs. I needed to get it under control, but I was so past caring. "I am your father, Marilyn Elise Jackson, and that is final!"

Marilyn glared at me. "Fine. But you know what? I'm sorry for my mother, whatever her name was. She obviously had the unfortunateness to marry _you_! I'm just sure that she was a right bitch, just like you. I'm sure she would have wanted me to be left in the dark, shouting at my fucking ceiling at two A.M. why I'm stuck with a father like _you_!" she screamed.

I felt like I should have lost it right about then.

I didn't. Instead, I felt hollow, sad, empty, and- horrible. I looked at my daughter with shaking fists. "Room. Now."

Marilyn finally complied, stomping up the stairs.

I ran a hand through my hair.

What the hell was I doing?


	6. Chapter 6: Coffee and Crosses

A/N: Here I am! Like I said- I've made it my life's mission to post sooner. I'll try to keep that promise for as long as possible. To answer a few questions:

To Athenachild101: Reese's mother is- different. I'll give you a hint, though: look for physical similarities to characters in Percy Jackson.

To JustNicula: Yes, I do indeed have a plot, for once in my life. I'm quite proud, actually.

Thank you to all the other reviewers! I really, really appreciate it- it makes me want to write more!

Anyway, without further overdue, here's Chapter Six!

* * *

Chapter Six

MARILYN'S POV

* * *

_I was in a strange place._

_ I had never seen this place before, yet it felt strangely familiar. There was a fringe of pine trees on the crest of a large hill, and, if I looked very closely, something that looked like a golden rug hanging on a tree. There was some sort of absurdly large snake guarding it._

_ I realized I was on the ground, and I stood up, wiping the dirt off of my hands. I looked around briefly, and then began to walk towards the rug. As I got closer, I saw that the rug wasn't a rug; it looked almost like a sheep's fleece. With a start, I remembered the Golden Fleece, from the stories of Jason and the Argonauts. _

_ And, wrapped around the trunk of the huge pine tree, was not a snake, but a deadly, slumbering dragon. I opened my mouth in surprise, a scream frozen there, when the dragon slowly opened one onyx eye and blinked._

* * *

**I woke with a start. **

I was shivering from a cold sweat that surrounded my body. I sat up shakily. I remembered the dream as clearly as if it were a memory. I recalled the smell of fresh pine needles, the feel of the dew on my bare feet, and the dirt on my palms. I could picture the dragon in mind's eye, the deadliness poised in its lethal body. I also recalled the Golden Fleece and shivered.

I lay back in my white bed. It was Wednesday; Hump Day, but all I felt was an even larger mountain to climb. I frowned as I remembered Ms. Clark's betrayal, and grimaced as I replayed my father's furiousness. Not even that stupid, annoying camel could cheer me up now.

I thought back to the dream. That was too weird. It was almost like I was- there. Like someone had transported me there. I shook my head, and checked my alarm clock. It read 5:30. I shook my head in disgust. Waking up before needed on school days should be illegal.

I sighed. I was awake now, so I might as well get dressed and actually have time to eat my breakfast. The fact that the mere idea of breakfast was a novelty was a sad, sad, thing indeed. I yawned and stepped out from under my covers.

I sucked in a breath.

I gazed at my feet in disbelief, and then slowly touched them. I looked at my fingers, rubbing them together, and marveled softly in complete and total wonder. My eyes darted back and forth from my feet to my fingers, and I nearly fainted.

For, on my feet and fingers, there was a powder of wet, fresh soil.

My mind began to spin. The cogs and gears in my brain began to tick, whirring frantically. I sat down heavily on my bed. There had to be some logical explanation for this. I was probably sleepwalking. Perhaps I went outside for a stroll in my gardens. Or, regardless of the apparent freshness of the dirt, it could be left over from my sloppy soccer practice the night before.

I slumped, relieved. It was just soccer practice. I wasn't sleepwalking, I wasn't going insane; the dirt was just from soccer practice. I had been so distraught the night before that I probably forgot to take a shower.

I rose from my bed, nearly dizzy with relief. I rubbed my eyes. Sleep deprivation was obviously not a good course for one bordering on insanity like me. I took a deep breath, and it came out more like a shaky laugh.

Remembering my dirty feet, I walked over to my shower. The warm water sounded like a pretty good idea right now. Perhaps it would calm my trembling nerves. I switched my shower on, relaxing already at the soft pitter-patter of droplets.

I stripped off my Hello Kitty pajamas (seriously, I needed to get Gran to take me shopping for acceptable eighth-grade pajamas instead of useless sweaters that I will never wear), throwing them into my laundry hamper and stepped into the shower.

I let the hot water course over me and erase the pent-up stress harbored in my body. I sighed in pure relief. No sleep-walking, no stress, no drama, just for one second in my life. That was all I needed. Just a break.

Yet, despite my need for a breather, I couldn't turn my thoughts away from my dream. It just seemed so- _real_. Usually, one doesn't contemplate the feeling of gritty dirt in dreams, correct? I could also picture it so vividly.

I remembered some article I read somewhere that said that only the most relevant memories to day-to-day life were remembered more clearly than the ones of no relevance. Therefore, because dreams weren't actually relevant to anything that had to do with your life, you usually didn't remember them too clearly.

This dream was different. It was like a memory, one of the ones from school, or a vacation. If I tried, I could feel the wispy fog floating through my fingers. That just wasn't normal. I was ninety percent sure, at least.

I frowned as I scrubbed strawberry shampoo onto my scalp. Even the familiar, usually calming scent just made me even more apprehensive. I shrugged. I was probably overreacting, like always. It was just a stupid dream. The soil was just from soccer practice.

I rinsed out the conditioner from my hair. The sweet smell of strawberries hung on the mist condensing on the air, and I switched the shower off. The drops gradually came to a stop, leaving me shivering in the moist, humid air.

I stepped out of the shower and rubbed my face in a fluffy towel. The stress was starting to get to me. Father had called Mr. Newman and requested that the psychologist visits be stopped, so that much, at least, was solved, but it left a million new problems in its place.

I walked back into my room, drying myself off. I pulled my shirt over my torso, burying my face in the soft cotton momentarily. Those shirts may be uglier than my ass, but they sure were comfortable.

I slid on my skirt and socks, pondering everything that was going on. Besides my family life, Reese thought that her crush was crushing on me. I shuddered. I was pretty sure that Wally was just a stalker, not the creator of some real-life love triangle.

I adjusted my socks, taking care to align them. For once in my life, I had nothing but time, and it was a nice feeling. For another forty minutes, I didn't have to face the world. I could take fifteen minutes to put my socks on. I could pretend that my mom was downstairs, sipping a cup of coffee.

Conclusion #7: I like pretending.

I walked into my bathroom after tying my sneakers. For once, I actually had time to brush my rebellious curls. They still didn't look much better, but by the time I exited, they were put into a relatively calm side braid. It was still a bit frizzy, of course, but a bit tamer than normal.

I looked at the clock. It read 5:42. I sighed. I usually didn't even wake up for forty more minutes. This stress was clearly not healthy for anyone. I couldn't handle school. I scoffed as I remembered stupid Ms. Greene's essay. I had stayed up until 1:00 in the morning to finish that.

Oh, shit. That meant that with my trouble falling asleep with the stress and my early wakening, I had gotten approximately- one and a half hours of sleep. I laughed, but it came out choked and strangled. There was no way that I was going to make it through the day.

I swallowed. I needed coffee, and there was no way that Jenny-stick-a-pole-up-my-ass was going to let me have any. I shrugged, grabbing my Columbia fleece from where it hung on the back of my desk chair. I had a bike. No one would know. At least, not until I was gone.

I grabbed my backpack from where it lay, the contents sprawled out all over my desk. I quickly put them away, glancing anxiously at the time. I could practically feel the Starbucks goodness melting away on my tongue. I closed my eyes. Bliss.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder, taking a deep breath. I creaked open my door and tip-toed out into the hallway. Quietly, I slipped past the doors lining my hallway and to the first floor. I crept quietly into my garage.

I spotted my bike near the wall, and frowned at the dustiness. It hadn't been used since October, after all, and several months can pick up quite a bit of dust. I rolled it out, and swung my legs over the side.

The cold wind whipped through my hair and brought me back to my senses as I began to pedal. I sighed. It awakened me, dispelling the groggy feeling that usually leaves around an hour after you wake up. I made a mental note to do this every morning, provided Jenny and my father didn't murder me first.

I take into account the beautiful morning. Dawn was beginning to rise on the horizon, bathing the streets in a cool, blue light. The last stars were twinkling out, and very slowly, Quincy was coming to life. Business men and women strolled around the streets, and cars zipped by. The general aura of conversation began to arise, leaving me with a much better feeling then the silence of my bedroom. Here, in the real world, it was much easier to believe that the dirt on my feet was from soccer practice, and I was just very tired.

I finally left the residential area, leaving the wealthy brick houses and wrought iron fences behind me. I began to see the first inklings of Quincy's little downtown area. My bike jiggled along as it ran across the uneven cobblestones. My knees ached from the effort, and I was a bit winded, but I felt more alive than I had in a very long time.

I eventually spotted the green mermaid logo and smiled, rifling through my backpack for a ten-dollar bill. I intended to eat well. I checked my watch- 6:19. I was probably going to have to bike to school, then. I shrugged. Fine by me.

I entered the coffee shop, the bell clinking softly. The shop looked newly opened; the employees still half-asleep, but there was already a line of business figures waiting. I got in line, ignoring the strange once-overs. You didn't see thirteen year olds in Starbucks unaccompanied at 6:20 in the morning every day, after all.

I read the menu, and decided on a caramel latte and blueberry scone. It wasn't as good as a strawberry muffin, of course, but it would have to do. There was another clinking of the door, and I turned to see a certain tall, Native American, extraordinarily attractive boy enter Starbucks.

He was accompanied, unlike me, by a teenage girl with long, white-blonde hair and blue-green eyes. She was rolling her eyes and doing something on her phone, and I slouched near the coffee selection. I could not handle stalker boy before the sun rose.

Unfortunately, it turned out that stalker boy could handle me.

"Hey, Marilyn," Wally greeted cheekily, cutting four people in line. I narrowed my eyes at him, but didn't answer. Instead, I concentrated on just about anything else. The strong aroma of coffee in the air. The small, hairline fractures in the tiles I was standing on. The slight blemishes in the wood of the shelves showcasing Starbucks products.

"What? No answer?" Wally demanded. God, he really had the nerve to _ask _as to _why _he wasn't getting an answer. Douchebag.

I am proud to say that I told him precisely that. "You really have the nerve to ask me as to why you aren't getting an answer?" I said incredulously. I was proud at my self-control. I hadn't sworn. My language was improving, despite Gran's frequent reprimands.

Wally scratched the back of his neck and sighed. "Look- I hate to ask this, but can we just start over? I know I probably came across as a stalker and a jerk."

"Right about that one," I muttered.

"Please, Marilyn. I'm not always such a jerk, I swear." Wally looked at me with big blue eyes, and then stuck out his hand.

I bit my lip, and then sighed. "Fine. You win. We can start over." I shook his hand.

He grinned at me impishly. "Hey. My name's William Grace, Will to all of my friends."

I smiled reluctantly. "My name's Marilyn Jackson. Lyn or Lynnie to all of my friends. Nice to meet you, Will."

His grin broadened even further at the use of his name. "So, what brings you to Starbucks this fine morning?"

I shrug uncomfortably. "Uh- lack of sleep." Not a lie, exactly, just not the whole truth.

Will scoffed in mock disgust. "You use Starbucks for _lack of sleep_?"

"Uh- yes. That is what one is supposed to use espresso, for, right?" I queried. To be truthful, I had never had more coffee than stolen sips from Reese's lattes from fifth grade, when she had an intense coffee infatuation.

"My gods. You're a coffee virgin," Will said, and placed a hand to his heart sagely and looked up at the ceiling.

"Shut up. I am not!" I protested, even though Will was right. Ugh. I hated him.

"Au contraire, m'dear. You are very much a coffee virgin, and this must be fixed. But how? How to go about this quest?"

Oh, my God. I was going to kill this jackass, despite the part of me that was cracking up inside. Will Grace was a jackass and a stalker. Well, maybe not a stalker anymore, but the jackass stayed prominent.

"Here's an idea: stay in your own coffee business. I will have you know that I am very experienced in coffee drinking!" I scowled at his laughter.

"With what? You went to a restaurant when you were seven and the waiter accidentally gave you coffee as opposed to hot chocolate?" Will snickered. I was going to kill him. As in, murder.

"No, you jackass!" I slugged him on the shoulder, only semi-playfully. "I will have you know that I have stolen many lattes from people who shall remained unnamed, as those people would murder me if they found out that I was Cappuccino-Snatcher."

"Cappuccino-Snatcher?" Will asked, a smile playing at his lips.

"Yes," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Cappuccino-Snatcher was evil. My friend drew comics about Cappuccino-Snatcher's death. And devised traps. She put Super-Glue on her coffee cup. Super-Glue, I tell you. That- that didn't work out too well. Coffee made her think irrationally, I tell you. Irrationally!"

Will raised his eyebrows and laughed. "You're one-of-a-kind, Jackson."

"You're a jackass," I replied.

Will just nodded. "Yep. That's what my family says, too."

"Will!"

I looked over to see the white-blonde haired girl scowling at him. I grinned. "That wouldn't happen to be family, would it?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, that happens to be my sister, Caroline. She's got it out for me. She's a dirty, rotten tattle-tale, you know. Told my mom when I punched a wall."

"Whoa, back up. You punched a wall?" I asked disbelievingly. Will was obviously pretty screwed up, but I didn't know that it went to the extent of punching things. Like drywall.

"Uh- yeah." Will scratched the back of his neck, and I got the feeling he was nervous around the subject. I studied him for a moment, and then just pinched the bridge of my nose. I was going to be seriously messed up if I spent more time with him. Like, more than I already was.

"I have no words," I finally said, shaking my head.

"William Grace! Get back here!" Caroline called.

I snickered. "Your sister sounds like she needs to talk to you."

"Yes. I'll be right on that, as soon as I get my brain back. Caroline is evil, I'm telling you. Pure evil. The pinnacle of destruction-"

"Whoa, Grace. Those are some big words. Been reading the dictionary lately?" I smirk at him.

He shook his head. "You are unbelievable. Who's the dumbass now, huh?"

"Um- still you, last I checked. As I said, revisiting the 'big words'. You've obviously been holding out on me with your pastimes. You like to learn, Grace." I dimpled at his shock and outrage.

"No, I don't! You- you sadist bitch! I don't like to learn!" he sputtered while I doubled over in hysterics.

"Sadist- sadist- b- bitch?" I said between fits of laughter. "Oh- my God," I managed, still laughing uncontrollably. I wiped tears from my eyes. "Thank you, for that. You just made my day, Grace."

"Glad you found so much humor in my words," he said dryly. "I do not like to learn, by the way. I am a proper eighth grade boy, I will have you know!"

"Hey, Grace?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think any eighth grade boy who uses the term 'sadist bitch' can be in their right mind, just saying," I said.

Will narrowed his eyes at me. "What else d'ya want me to call you? Manic douchebag?"

I cracked up. "That's even worse than sadist bitch, Grace."

"Will!" Caroline shouted, and finally started walking over to us. "Pretty girl doesn't equal ignoring your sister," she fumed.

I reddened, looking very closely at the floor. "Carrie!" Will complained, his cheeks tinging as well. That was comforting, at least. I wasn't the only one with a near cardiac arrest right here.

"Oh, my God, Will. You are such a little kid sometimes, you know that?" Caroline said, rolling her eyes. "What do you want to drink, anyway? I swear to gods, I'm about twenty seconds away from not ordering you anything to drink."

Will gasped in mock outrage. "You wouldn't."

Caroline made a face. "Surprisingly enough, I would."

"You- you-" Will groped for the right phrase, and then turned to me with a grin. _Oh, no, _I thought suddenly. _He wouldn't dare…_

"You sadist bitch!" he finished triumphantly.

"Excuse me, _what _did you just call me?" Caroline demanded.

I stifled a laugh, but still sniggered behind my hand pressed firmly to my mouth. I was about sixty seconds away from losing it. Sadist bitch- who on Earth called people that?

"A sadist bitch. If you prefer, I could call you a manic douchebag. Or ruffian whore. I'm trying out new insults, you see. Do you like them? Marilyn _adored _them," Will said triumphantly.

Caroline shook her head and opened and closed her mouth like a fish.

"I did not adore them, Grace, I found them to show your inner insanity!" I protested. "You should not call your sister a sadist bitch!"

Caroline just blinked twice.

"You forgot about manic douchebag, and ruffian whore. Oh- here's a new one. Incessant bastard. Like it?" Will asked, that stupid smile of his still plastered to his face.

I became a Caroline. I was ridden speechless. An incessant bastard? Dear lord, help us all. I was near in tears from exhaustion, giddiness, and disbelief at this point. Where does this kid come up with this stuff? _Sadist bitch_? _Ruffian whore_? Who the hell raised him?

"Will," Caroline finally said, still looking as if she just saw a pig fly, "I think this girl may be right. You are insane."

"No, I'm not. You're just jealous of my brilliance!" Will smiled.

Umm… no. No, no, I'm not, William Grace. I'm actually quite scared by your state of mind. Whatever it is, I'm pretty sure it's closer to insanity than brilliance. This boy was seriously starting to scare me. Again.

"You know, I'm not sure caffeine is a good idea for him," I finally said, addressing Caroline.

Caroline grinned, the smile unnervingly like her brother's. "Yeah, I know. What's your name?"

"Marilyn," I told her. "Marilyn Jackson."

"Caroline, Caroline Grace," she greeted, sticking out a hand. I shook it, liking the look in Caroline's eyes. It wasn't downright evil, like Will's, or plain mischievous, like Reese's. It was more- happy. Happy, with a touch of humor. I liked her immediately.

"Aw, come on," Will complained, seeing the exchange between us. "You can't rally against me! Marilyn, see sense! I'll never see the light of day again!"

"Is he always like this?" I queried, jerking a thumb towards Will.

"Always, unfortunately," Caroline agreed.

I took a moment to notice the line moving right past us, and checked my watch quickly. I cursed. 6:37. Shit.

"Shit," I cursed aloud.

"What?" Caroline asked.

"It's 6:37. I took my bike here," I explained. "There's no way I'm going to get to class on time."

Caroline shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. Our nanny, Quinn, is waiting outside with our car. We can drive you to school." She turned to the menu. "How do you like your coffee?"

"She doesn't know. She's a coffee virgin," Will muttered.

"Jackass," I said.

"Ruffian whore."

"Jesus Christ, Will, who in the hell says that? 'Ruffian whore'? I'm beginning to think you need an asylum," I told him in wonder.

Caroline raised her eyebrows. "You're just grasping this concept now?"

"He asked me to start over. Said he wasn't always a jerk. He was right, I guess. He's usually an asshole," I said, shooting him a glare.

"Sadist bitch," Will said.

"Gods," Caroline muttered. "You're both off of your rockers."

"Yup," we both said in unison.

I sighed, a problem occurring to me. "As much as I would love to ride with you and the strange vocabulary boy over here, I can't. My bike is parked outside- it would probably get stolen."

Caroline frowned. "That is a problem- though, if you told Quinn your address, she could probably drop it off for you."

"No!" I said quickly, earning strange glances from them. "Uh- no. Thanks, though."

Caroline narrowed her eyes, but didn't persist the manner further. Unfortunately, I realized that if I were going to make it to school on time, I was going to have to bike on one hour of sleep, no coffee. I shuddered. Crap. I was so dead. I wondered if I could contact Social Services for protection.

I could picture the emotions on my father's face: anger, frustration, but mostly just a livid furiousness. That poor Quinn, whoever she was, would get mauled by my aberration of a father. The police would come to the scene and suspect a Bengal _tiger_.

"Look," I said with a small smile, "I really have to go. Thanks, though."

Will just shrugged with that impish grin of his. "See you around, Lyn."

"Goodbye, Marilyn," Caroline said, waving.

I walked out of the door and into the bright sunlight, smiling as the yellow radiance bathed me in some degree of warmth. March may not be the warmest month of the year, but after three months of what felt like subzero temperatures, the forties were a blessing. _Hace viento y fresco_,I thought with a smile. That was what Señoríta Rodriguez would have said, anyhow. It translated to: It's windy and cool. Señoríta Rodriguez grew up in Spain, and as such English was her second language. She often got grammar incorrect and slipped into angry, fluent Spanish when she got agitated or distressed. It was quite funny, actually.

I unlocked my bike from the bike rack and put my backpack back into the silver basket into the front, securing it tightly. I didn't want papers to fly over to Boston, after all. I doubted the MIT students wanted my science homework on longitudinal waves.

I swung my legs over the seat and started pedaling, to school.

Away from coffee shops.

Away from home.

* * *

REESE'S POV

**I think it's safe to say that I was sufficiently freaked out.**

When your mom starts rambling on about the equilibrium being broken, one starts to doubt the mental sanity of said mother. Then, one starts to doubt the sanity of oneself. I had spent hours thinking about whether I had imagined the whole thing. I mean, things crashing down? They're here? My mother sounded like a horror movie.

I had several options. When I woke up, I could prod and push my mother for more about her abnormal proclamation, for one. I could interrogate my father. Or, the most preferable of all of the alternatives, I could just pretend it had never happened. If it was important, I would know it soon enough.

For now, I was sitting in the gym locker room, thinking back to the conversation for the millionth time today. I was going insane with mental worry. Was I or my mother going insane? Was my mom quoting a movie? I just didn't know. And, to be completely honest, that scared me, really bad.

On another note, Marilyn looked like she was about to collapse.

"Lynnie?" I asked gently, poking her. She was swaying gently on the benches in the locker room, blinking her eyes and yawning.

"Wha-huh?" she sputtered, sitting up straight.

I smirked. "You do realize we're doing circuits today, correct?"

There was a pause. And then, slowly, Lyn's jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "No," she whispered. "It can't be. Life can't be that cruel."

"Oh, my dear naïve Marilyn," I sighed, shaking my head. "Yes, circuits. The evilness is stunning, I know. A divine force must really hate you."

A note about circuits, first of all. No, they aren't the boring contraptions made out of batteries, copper wires, and a faulty switch made in fifth grade. It's sad that I would actually prefer that excuse for a science project.

Circuits are, in fact, an idiotic concept which should be destroyed. In their essence, they are a diabolical obstacle course. There are based on approximately six stations set up around the gym, each one with a different exercise, like curl-ups, or bleacher jumps. You have to do this for twenty seconds, and then run to the next station without a break. All that time, the gym teachers are supervising you, smiling evilly.

To sum it all up: circuits are a bitch.

Lyn sighed. "All I want is a few moments. That's all I ask."

"Lyn, hon, I hate to break it to you, but you're not getting moments anytime soon," I said.

"But I've been dealing with shit since _five in the morning_!" Lynnie half-cried, half-sobbed. "I met stupid Will Grace in the coffee shop, and he wouldn't shut up about being a stupid coffee virgin and sadist bitch. And a manic douchebag, and a ruffian whore, and incessant bastard."

I opened my mouth and closed it. A sadist bitch? I- I had no words.

"Just don't even go there. And then I finished the stupid _Fault in Our Stars_, so I feel like a truck just ran over me. I'm still crying, and I finished it in English class. Before that, Mr. Allen took away my book for accidentally reading when he was lecturing. I started to read before he started talking, I just didn't know! I tune out monotonous voices! And now I'm still sobbing about stupid Hazel and stupid Augustus because I adored them, and- just- _ugh_."

Alright, the _Fault in Our Stars _dilemma I could relate to. I had sobbed for a full half an hour after finishing it. I had burrowed up in my bed and cried so much I couldn't read it anymore. And after I did finish it? I got up, made a Raman Noodle Bowl, and watched Disney cartoons for an hour. I also ate a fair amount of chocolate. Say what you want, but the combination of Raman Noodles, silly, dumb Disney shows, and chocolate made you feel a little better. Just a little.

"And adding on to that, my dad's going to kill me. Kill me. I'm pretty sure I handed in a load of shite for my English essay, and I look like someone from the _Walking Dead_. Don't even get me started about the goddamn dream, either, or I swear to God, I'll crack. I mean it," she cried.

I feel kind of bad saying this, but I was ninety percent that Marilyn was already cracked. At her present state, I was almost positive she needed an asylum, and fast. My current stature wasn't too great, either. I was still anxious about breaking the equilibrium.

"Wow- um- okay." I just wrapped an arm around Lyn's shoulder.

If there was one thing that I had learned over my years, it was to never underestimate the power of one good friend. No matter how shitty your life seems, no matter how desperate the tears are, a truly great friend can fix that for you. Condolence was really the greatest gift, especially when you had a friend with a home life as screwed up as Lyn's was. It was the most amazing feeling when you felt like you had friends backing you up.

Lyn sagged against me. "Thanks," she said softly, sighing in relief.

"Aw, no problem. I have angst issues about _The Fault in Our Stars_ too, don't worry," I said, mussing her hair. I was tempted to tell Lyn about my mom's own craziness, but that would include me telling her about my own inferiority complex with Will Grace. I dispelled the thought. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't.

"I guess we have to go and do some stupid circuits," she grumbled.

I laughed. "C'mon, be brave."

Lyn smiled sarcastically, but it came out more as a manic spasm then a nice, friendly dimple. I just giggled to myself.

"There you go! Practically a regular Galahad."

She just rolled her eyes. "Let's go dominate the unknown Thirteenth Labor of Hercules," she sighed.

* * *

WILL'S POV

**I studied my list.**

I had been working on it since first bell, carefully scripting down new ideas. I grinned at my wild assortment. I wondered what Mari would think if she saw this. She'd probably laugh, smiling. I chuckled to myself. _Cappucino-Snatcher_. Oh, gods. It seemed as if I wasn't the only one in desperate need of a nut house.

I looked at my draft, reading it over. So far, I had:

**_sadist bitch_**

**_manic douchebag_**

**_ruffian whore_**

**_incessant bastard_**

**_vexatious wench_**

**_perturbing she-devil_**

**_perplexing he-devil_**

**_hellish hussy_**

****I put a hand to my heart. They were brilliant. There was no lacking of verisimilitude in the thought that they were truly great. I mean, I could use this on Janie and Caroline- the look on their faces would be priceless.

"What on Earth?" A hand plucked the paper from my hands, and I started to protest, but Samuel O'Malley was already reading it.

"Christ almighty, Grace. 'Hellish hussy'? What in the hell?" he demanded, looking more than slightly miffed.

"Oh, unique insults. I'm trying to partially annoy my sisters and this really annoying girl," I explained.

Sam's face sharpened. "What girl?"

"Uh- Marilyn Jackson."

Sam shot me a look like he thought I was crazy. "Wait- hold up. Yer purposely trying to antagonize _Marilyn Jackson_?"

"Yeah. So?" I asked, confused.

"Och, Grace," Sam said. "She's terrifying. I mean, really scary. Jackson's not even badass, she's just- alright, yer new here, so you obviously haven't seen the full wrath of her anger yet. Still- stay away from 'er. She's scary."

"I dunno about that, Sam. She told me to fuck off. I think that counts," I said doubtfully.

"Dear William, let me tell you something about Marilyn Jackson. For one, she's a total recluse. Never talks to anyone besides Winters. I don't really know why, she's just a pain in the arse. Trust me on that one. Danger, Will Robinson. Run, while you still can, friend."

I shook my head. "What are you talking about? She's not a recluse. I just saw her at Starbucks this morning."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "That may be, mate, but yer in some serious trouble if ye believe that she's safe."

"This is bull. Marilyn talked to me about being the Cappuccino-Snatcher just this morning, and even laughed at my sadist bitch comment. She may be a bit off her rocker, but she's no angry recluse." I suddenly felt an impulse to defend Marilyn. After all, we had started over. I owed that much to her.

Sam stared at me, and then smiled. "Oh, I see now."

"What?"

"I see the 'paradox'," Sam said with a smirk and a wink.

"What are you talking about, Samuel O'Malley? I'd appreciate an answer, if that doesn't bother you too terribly," I snapped.

"Oh, no, mate! Ye've got ta figure this one out on yer own," Sam said with an evil glint in his eyes.

"Oh, gods, Sam! Just spit it out already, won't you?" I glowered at him, crossing my arms.

"Well," Sam said, a pensive look plastered to his evil face, "for starters. That Marilyn certainly is beautiful, isn't she, mate?" He sauntered off to his desk.

It took me a moment to process what he had just said. _That Marilyn certainly was beautiful_… oh, gods. Shit. I looked at him, about ready to chop off his head, when Sam winked, gesturing to behind me.

"Good afternoon, class," Mr. Davidson said, shuffling the papers on his desk.

Oh, that man. He had the worst timing.

* * *

PERCY'S POV

**There were a lot of things about my daughter that I didn't understand.**

Most of those things, like her absurd love for strawberries, I disliked about her. Because, ninety percent of the time, she obliviously got herself into situations that could be potentially very dangerous for half-bloods. And, despite what she may think, I did care about her.

This withstanding, I was still shocked when I woke to Jenny's shrieks this morning.

My daughter was missing. I had started to hyperventilate, thinking _not again not again please, please not again_. I had been at the point of a cardiac arrest. Or a seizure. To be completely honesty, I was out of my mind with worry. What if this was all my fault? If Marilyn had run away from home, there was no way that she could've survived.

And now, with my daughter standing sheepishly before me, completely unharmed, I felt only anger. I ran through me like a red-hot spike, blurring my vision so that I saw only the color red. For the first time in a long time, I was truly angry. Not a desperate mix of loneliness, sadness, and despair mixed into an Angst Smoothie, but a true acrimony.

"_Where the _hell _were you_?" I said, my voice trembling.

Marilyn shrank back. "I- I just needed to clear my head. All I did was go down the block to Starbucks, I swear."

"Do you have _any _idea how dangerous that was?" I hissed.

"Jesus, Father, I just went to get a latte," Marilyn said, a bit pissed off.

"Yes. At _six o' clock in the morning_!" I shouted. "Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?"

"Yes. To be fair, I'm running on precisely one hour of sleep, and I'd like to take a nap. I'm really, really sorry. It was dumb, I know," Marilyn said, gritting her teeth together. My blood froze. My daughter was so goddamn like _her_.

"That's wonderful. It still doesn't change the fact that you biked two miles in thirty-degree weather at six A.M. That's not badass, Marilyn, or rebellious, that's just plain stupid. What the hell were you thinking?" I demanded.

"Not much of anything, like I said. I was- and still am- running on an hour of sleep. _An _hour. As in, like, one. Uno. Un. YῙ. Ein."

"I don't care what one is in Spanish, French, Chinese, or German, Marilyn Elise Jackson. All I care about presently is getting your ass up to your room. Now. You have no idea what could have happened to you." I emitted a choked laugh. "You can't even begin to fathom the danger out there."

"No. No, I can't, you're right. I'm honestly surprised to be hearing anything from you right now. God knows why you'd even care," Marilyn said.

"I thought I gave you an order," I said coldly.

"Yes. Room, I understand. Hulk Smash's vocab lesson. I'm going upstairs, don't you worry, _Daddy_," she bit, the barb hitting its mark. She stormed upstairs, leaving a trail of hate. I could practically see the traces of negativity left behind.

I sighed, sitting down on my couch wearily. The room was bathed in a blue, cold light, and the furniture was black. All of it. Simplicity was how I lived. You came to accept it after a while.

"Sir," Jennifer said quietly. I hadn't realized she had been loitering over our entire conversation. "I know it's none of my business, but-"

"What?" I snapped.

She shrugged her shoulders nervously. "All I know is that Marilyn wants a father. That's all."

"I am her father," I said irritably.

"Mr. Jackson, pardon me saying so, but I don't believe that is the case," Jennifer said cautiously.

"What on Earth are you trying to get at?"

"A father is more than a biological relation. A fatherly figure is what Marilyn wants. Someone to care for her and place her under parental supervision. She doesn't want a physical paternal figure, I don't think. She just wants a guardian." She gestured to the couch. "May I sit?"

I was utterly bewildered, but I gestured for her to take a seat.

Jennifer sat carefully, gently smoothing out the folds of her jean skirt. She was a middle-aged woman of around forty-five, with greying light brown hair, pale skin, and an assortment of freckles. Laughing lines crinkled around her eyes as she spoke.

"Mr. Jackson, do you believe in guardian angels?"

The question took me aback. My checkered past had left me to believe that divine forces were not something to be toyed with, but rather something to be afraid of. I answered carefully. I knew angels existed, of a sort, but they weren't the guardians that some people imagined.

"No- I suppose not," I finally said after a lengthy pause.

She nodded, absorbing the information, and then took out a necklace from her collarbone, beneath her grey woolen sweater. To my surprise, it was a small, golden cross, slightly tarnished from years of use.

"My grandmother was a very devoted Christian," Jennifer explained. "So was my mother, and my father. In fact, my family, the Fitzpatricks, were all very dedicated Irish Catholics. My grandmother used to tell me stories, passed down through the centuries and generations, of our ancestors meeting St. Patrick. You are familiar with him, correct?"

I nodded, unsure of where this was going. "The- three leaved clover, right?"

Jennifer chuckled. "Yes. That was a symbol of the Holy Trinity, of which he was most famous. St. Patrick's Day is more a remembrance of the essence of Irish culture rather than a celebration of the true meaning of Patrick's teachings. Whether or not I am descended from this man, I do not know."

"What does this have to do with anything?" I demanded.

"Hush. I am telling a story, and you would do well not to interrupt. Anyhow- oh, blast, I lost my train of thought. Where was I- oh, yes. Anyhow, my grandmother would tell us each stories. I had eleven brothers and sisters, you see, and we would huddle around the hearth, listening to the sound of her voice."

I shook my head, still unaware of Jennifer's train of thought here, if she had one at all.

"It was a tradition in my family to give each child a cross when they had their First Communion; when they turned seven, normally. The cross would be a symbol of a guardian angel, something to watch over them when they were in times of trouble. I never really believed it, but I respected it, as my grandmother and I were very close."

I leaned back in the couch. This was becoming exceptionally boring.

"When my grandmother died- I was eleven years old- I felt like I had lost my best friend. In a way, I had. My parents were always consumed with my other eleven siblings, but I was Granna's favorite. She died a death of old age, passing away peacefully in her sleep," Jennifer said, and she got a wistful look in her eyes. I felt a pang as well. I could relate.

"After that- I don't know, I supposed I wanted my Granna back. I wanted her to sing me Irish lullabies and tell me ancient stories of Finn MacCool while she sat by the fire, knitting. The only thing I had left of her was my cross, that golden thing that she had given me when I had first undergone the sacrament of the blood and body of Jesus. I started remembering what she had said about guardian angels watching over you, and I begin to connect it with the necklace. In times of anxiety or worry, I still to this day finger my necklace, hearing Granna's voice encourage me."

"That's wonderful, but what-"

"I'm telling a story, Mr. Jackson! My point is- I'm not sure if my Granna is still watching over me. I'm not sure if she was my guardian angel or not. But her death- it gave me a reason to believe. Believe that there was someone out there who cared especially for me.

"I'm saying that it is perhaps the same with Marilyn. If she believes that there is someone out there who truly believes in her and cares for her, it matters not the biological relation. Marilyn Jackson wants a guardian angel, sir. And I do believe she is running out of places to look."

I stared at her in silence.

Then, slowly, Jennifer stood, straightening regally. Her posture resumed its elegant stature, and I gazed at her in wonder. I was stricken by that whole conversation. My hands shook.

"Thank you, Mr. Jackson, for your time. Please consider it," she said softly.

And with that, she was gone, rendering me, for once, speechless.


	7. Chapter : Trances and Theories

A/N: I'm back! Inspiration is back; though it's not as bright as I would have liked. Hence a shorter chapter, sorry! This is a dream-inspired chapter, just a forewarning. Lots of visions. Sorry if the writing's a little- iffy. It'll be better in the next chapter, I swear.

To Athenachild101: Just hang in there! I'll reveal it soon, I promise!

To Xinama: Annabeth's dead, sorry. Just not- permanently. Keep reading; you'll see!

* * *

Chapter Seven

MARILYN'S POV

* * *

_I was in the meadow again._

_ I crouched in the tall weeds that surrounded me. The air was moist, full of wispy fog floating eerily. With a shiver, I realized it was night, and not early morning as it had been before. I sniffed the air, and detected a hint of wood smoke. That was odd. I scanned the area for traces of smoke, or the dim glowing of a fire, but I found nothing. The scent was faint- it barely carried over the slight breeze that whisked through the meadow._

_ My eyes blinked to adjust to the darkness of the black night. A few stars twinkled above me, glinting faintly behind the clouds that drifted over the moon. I finally stood, brushing my hands on my pajama bottoms._

_ I searched for the Golden Fleece and the dragon, and, sure enough, they were exactly where they had been before. I could no longer see the perfect details of the frightening fire-breathing creature, and for that I was glad. I wasn't sure if I would have been able to stand my ground if I saw the full monstrosity._

_ I gazed down at my clothes and wrinkled my nose in disgust. A dark brown mud was splattered all over my Care Bears® t-shirt and lollipop pants. My feet squelched in the muck, and my hands were covered in the foul-looking substance. My hair had parts of the dirt matted in it._

_ I stayed where I was. I had no desire to get blow torched a la flaming dragon. I studied the pine forest, my eyes flickering back and forth. I stifled a yawn. I was so tired. Perhaps I could just lay down for a while. Some peace and quiet would be nice._

_ Then, the forest flickered._

_ I shot up, looking wide-eyed at it. It had been a blue flicker- almost like a shudder. As if there was some sort of gate there. I studied it closely again, and it happened once more. The slightest tremble. A wave ran through the blue-tinted shield, rippling like water._

* * *

**I woke in a cold sweat.**

I panted, not realizing how terrified I had been in that dream. I sat up in my bed and flicked my light switch. That dream had been all too real, and I remembered it with perfect clarity. It was almost as if I had really been there, smelling the wood smoke and squelching my feet in the mud.

I shook my head. That was ridiculous. I searched my brain for a logical answer. There had to be some explanation for visiting the exact same place two nights in a row. I thought back to my first dream, which had been in the early morning light, the first rays of dawn just starting to peek over the horizon. I sighed in relief as I got the answer. My first dream had been plaguing my thoughts the entire whole of the previous day. Dreams reflected your inner thoughts. I was dreaming that again because of the original dream's importance.

I slumped. Nonsense, that was all. I rubbed my eyes.

"Ick!" I said, blinking my eyes. I had just gotten some sort of dust or grit into my pupils, and it stung. I massaged my eyelids, trying to get the gunk out of my eyes. I finally succeeded, and I stared down at my hands in confusion.

On my hands was a layer of mud.

A shiver ran down my spine. I uncovered the blankets, revealing my dirty legs and pajamas. I felt my hair, and was met with the dirty, matted texture of something encrusted in the curls. My whole body shook, and I stood, nearly sprinting to my bathroom.

I slammed my hand on the light switch and sucked in a long, sharp breath.

My entire body was coated in a fine layer of black mud.

* * *

**I walked into Mrs. Bridge's class uneasily.**

"So then Jamie was all like 'Yeah, Dad, I really want to go see a baseball game'. But see, I had already called dibs on Saturday! I wanted to go on a hike, you know, embrace nature and all that stuff, but Mom was like, 'Oh, yeah! That sounds great!' I swear to God, she's a psychopath. An uncontrollable psychopath," Reese ranted. She turned to me with a sigh. "Are you even listening, Lyns?"

"Oh- um, yeah," I said.

"What did I say, then?" Reese demanded.

"Uh- baseball games and your brother, Jamie. An argument about Saturday and psychopaths, as well, I think," I said. I wasn't even close, and I knew it. I rubbed my eyes.

"Something like that, but no," Reese said. She sighed and spun me towards her. I blinked.

"I'm not a carousel, Reese." My head spun. I hadn't gotten any sleep. Again. I felt clammy and shaky, and spots danced before my eyes. My head throbbed.

"Marilyn Jackson, how much sleep did you get last night?" Reese finally queried, biting her lip. We were in Mrs. Bridge's class, early as normal, and all I wanted to do was sit down.

"Uh- a nice, solid eight hours," I lied through my teeth.

Reese snorted. "Liar. Try again."

I wilted. "Maybe- a half an hour?"

"_Lyn_!" Reese said, her eyes wide. "That makes it- what- three hours of sleep you've gotten in the past forty-eight hours?"

"Sounds about right," I told her, shifting my feet uncomfortably.

Reese groaned. "What on Earth is going on, Lynnie? I know your life is pretty much always shit, but lately it's been worse than usual."

I frowned. "Well- not really. I'm always fighting with Father, but it's for different reasons. On Monday, it was because I had questions about my mom. On Tuesday, it was because Stick-a-Pole-Up-My-Ass Ms. Clarks tattled on me. That led to questions. Last night? The whole 'I ran away to Starbucks'."

"You did _what_?" Reese shouted.

I flinched. "Well- I was having trouble- um- sleeping. Yeah."

"That does not qualify for an explanation, Marilyn Elise Jackson," Reese warned.

"I was having trouble sleeping, and I woke up early, so I just went to get some Starbucks at six am without my father's consent. Hence the livid paternal parent," I told her, looking down at my feet. I concentrate very hard on my sneakers. My toes were beginning to show, I noticed. I would have to ask Gran to go shopping for a new pair of Nikes and pajamas.

"What the hell were you thinking? That's dangerous, Lyn! Was that what the rant was all about yesterday, with coffee virgins and sadistic bitches?" Reese demanded.

"So you admit it," a voice said from behind us. "You are a coffee virgin."

I groaned. "Go away, Will. I'm tired."

"Don't you want to hear my new insults?" he cried, grinning wickedly. He slung an arm around my shoulder. "They're lovely, you hellish hussy."

I slink out of his grasp. "I refuse to be touched by someone with such a vulgar vocabulary," I snapped. "I really am exhausted, Will. Leave me alone."

Will smirked. "I think not, vexatious wench."

"Am I missing something here?" Reese asked, her tone clipped. Probably from my Starbucks revelation. Damn it. She was going to be pissed at me all day.

I said "No" as Will immediately said "Yes". Reese crossed her arms, glowering at each of us with those clear blue eyes of her. They were almost translucent in the dim lighting, and I resisted the urge to shy away from her.

"Start talking," Reese said.

"I'm thinking up creative insults. Here's a new one- monstrous damnation. Like it? I'm thinking about using it on my younger sister. She really is some abnormal damnation," Will explained.

My eyes darkened. "That's nice for you, William, but I honestly want to sit down now."

"Then do it, no one's stopping you," Reese retorted. "Go sit your ass in a chair, Marilyn."

I felt a pang. That wasn't fair; Reese didn't know the whole story. I slumped and walked over to my desk, where I unloaded my books. I rubbed my face. I doubted that Reese would be getting much sleep if she suspected sleepwalking outside or possibly going insane. It could be both. It was, most likely, with my luck.

I listened to Reese and Will arguing at their desk at the other side of the room. Mrs. Bridge's science room was a mix of white ceiling squares, cheap floor tiles, and black biology-style desks. A blackboard and SMART board compound was at the front of the room, where a podium was. Mrs. Bridge often addressed her class there, as opposed to her desk in the back of the room. A set of sinks was set right by the door, to the left of Reese's (and Will's) desk.

I caught snippets of their conversation. "She didn't- you have no right- not fair- mean." That was where I was at when Mrs. Bridge walked to the front of the room. Her mood was temperamental today, enforced by the fierce scowl that dominated her harsh features.

She held up a paper. "You will complete this worksheet by the end of the class. This is an accuracy grade, so do your utmost to complete them all correctly. Here," she said, slapping a pile of packets on Margaret Waters's desk. "Pass these out, Molly."

Margaret threw her a frown at the incorrect use of her name at her back, but stood up with a wrinkle of her nose. She practically chucked papers at me. Apparently, no one on God's green Earth was in a decent mood today.

I glanced down at the papers. I smiled in relief. The questions were in large print; I could easily handle this. I threw a look at Henry. "Copy?"

He nodded sagely. "I'll sleep, you work. Divide and conquer."

I grimaced, but set down to work. I had long since realized that sleeping Henry had no intention of actually doing any work; therefore I did the workload on my own. It didn't bother me much. The same situation was in my other classes this year- and all of the years before that.

Biting my tongue, I began to work. My handwriting took a while, but the questions hardly took me a second. They were so _easy_. It was as if Bridge had given us a kindergarten worksheet. I rolled my eyes and scoffed in disgust, and then frowned as I remembered memories.

I had been offered to skip a grade every year since kindergarten. I was simply more advanced than the other kids, and as a private school, there were no advanced classes. Skipping a grade was the only way for me to really get a challenge. I told my father at the end of each year, but he declined, his eyes boring into me. I had stopped trying to make my father proud a long time ago.

There was a rustle, and then a note landed in front of me. My cheeks flamed, and I turned to glare at Reese. To my surprise, Reese was piercing my menacingly with those eyes of her, while Will had a mischievous expression on his face. I scowled, and unfolded the note.

_So. How about some answers, here? What are friends for? –Will_

I rolled my eyes.

**I never said we were friends, Grace. I'm not giving you any answers, and please stop throwing notes at me. Much appreciated, thanks. I'm pretty sure Reese is going to murder me any second now with that glare of hers. And honestly, dear boy, there was no reason to sign your note. I knew who it was from.**

I chucked it back at him, and then resumed my work. I sighed in satisfaction. I was finished. I poked a sleeping Henry on the shoulder.

"Mwah?" he mumbled, sitting up straight.

"Answers," I said noncommittally, tossing him my packet.

He nodded, yawning. "Mthanks."

I didn't answer, because, lo and behold, there was another piece of paper on my desk.

_Yeah, what's up with that? Reese looks like she wants to chop your head off. Why are you guys fighting? And I want ANSWERS. Use your brilliance for good, you PERTURBING SHE-DEVIL. And I'm signing anyway, to make sure you know my name is WILL. Not GRACE, not DEAR BOY, and CERTAINLY NOT WALLY OR WALLACE. Just so we're clear, and all. –Will_

Oy-vey. That boy needed help.

**I don't want to talk about it. Answer to #1 is wavelength. **

I threw him the note. I was too tired to even care. I didn't mind if he stole my answers. I just wanted to sleep and escape from my life, but I couldn't even do that. I held back tears. It just wasn't fair. I should at least be able to run away to my dreams.

Another paper landed on my desk.

_Whoa. Thanks, but… are you okay? That was easy. –Will_

I looked over to see Will watching me anxiously. His blue eyes were piercing, and I diverted my own gaze.

**Fine. Just tired, is all. Answer to #2 is trough.**

I didn't have to wait long for another note.

_Bullshit, Marilyn. Are you sure you're okay? You don't look like it- no offense. –Will_

Now his eyes were boring holes through me.

**I AM PERFECTLY FINE. Answer to #3 is: Based on the essence of disturbances often seen by variable living specimens or weather, we see the chaos theory taking part in the rippling of water, and slight infractions causing a disturbance incalculable by any one means. Ripples spread out, creating a surface wave. **

I toss it, and he throws one back quickly.

_BULLSHIT. And gods, what the hell? The question was 'describe the cause of surface waves'… Chaos  
theory? What the hell is that?_

I yawned.

**Come on, Will. Everyone knows what chaos theory is. It's the variables, unexpected, or unplanned and the chain reaction regarding even the slightest infraction of a planned experiment. That's why science experiments have to be so closely monitored. #4 is: Tsunami waves rise suddenly because of the concept of friction, or two substances rubbing against one another. As the wave moves into shallow water, the friction increases, allowing the wave to suddenly increase drastically in wave height. Wave length also decreases; as the waves are closer to one another.**

I don't have to wait long for a reply.

_... I have no words. You are seriously one of a kind, Marilyn Jackson. Please tell me what's wrong. I live in the Grace household. I bet you that I can help. –Will_

I sighed.

**It's not that hard, Will; you just don't apply yourself. #5 is: Due to tectonic movements in the plates shifting in Earth's crust, earthquakes occur when convergent plates collide with each other. Thus, tsunamis are caused by shock tremors transmitting through the waves, and such waves are sent higher and filled with more power; as they are of more energy than that of typical waves caused by wind and elementals.**

I chuck the paper at him. Will really is looking worried, and Reese is still glaring. I shrink down in my seat as Will throws a note back to me.

_Okay, I don't even understand what you are DESCRIBING here. Dum it down, will you? I don't want Bridge expecting big things from me. AND YOU TRAITOR. YOU AVOIDED MY QUESTION. PERPLEXING HE-DEVIL. -Will_

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

**It is far too early in the morning for all of these capitals, dear boy. You are giving me a migraine. And- I'm not honestly sure you really want to know my problems. #6 is: transverse waves. It was a short answer, thank the Lord. I can't handle any more complexness any more than you can, Will. And, as far as I know, I am a girl, thank you very much. **

I wait for him to reply.

_Bullshit. And yes, I think I can handle your problems. Thank GODS for short answers- my hand was beginning to cramp. I've never had that happen before. I hate you. And, just so we're clear, I'm pretty sure that you can handle complexness, coming from the girl who just explained CHAOS THEORY to me. And, just so you know, everyone knows you're a girl, trust me. –Will_

For some reason, my cheeks flush at Will's answer. I meet his gaze, and he stares at me relentlessly. I cringe. I didn't do anything.

**#7 is (SIMPLIFIED VERSION): Longitudinal waves somewhat resemble a slinky in the transferring of matter from one end to the other, demonstrated in the compressing and spacing between the springs. Are you polytheistic? Just curious- you always say 'Gods'.**

I wait for his reply.

_Just so you know- that is not simplified. Yep, I am polytheistic- I'm descended from the Roman god Jupiter and the Greek goddess Aphrodite. Just thought you should know. _

_JK, Mari, JK. _

_TELL ME NOW. –Will_

Oh, my God. That boy took the definition of 'egotistical' to a whole new level.

**How does that even work? Roman and Greek? *sigh* #8 (A SIMPLIFIEDx2 VERSION): Surface waves need two mediums. An example of this is ocean waves, in which the wind and sand are two mediums that transmit waves. **

I don't have to wait long for a reply.

_Oh, it's pretty damn cool. My mom's mom is Aphrodite and Tristan McLean- it's freakin FANTASTIC. Dad's dad is Jupiter- he can shoot lightning and fly. I can also shoot lightning and fly, by the way. I'm pretty awesome, you just don't know it yet. And, seriously? Your answer could be: 2 mediums. Ocean waves- sand & wind._

Oh, dear Lord. This boy. He was troubled.

**Seriously? You just had to throw Tristan McLean into the mix too, as well. Dear Lord, help us. And that answer was monosyllabic. At least show some sentence structure here. #9: Due to the positioning of the Ring of Fire; convergent plates as well as divergent plates often interact here, causing catastrophic results. This chain reaction results in natural disasters, such as the creation and eruption of volcanoes, tsunamis, and earthquakes. Viable examples are: the formation of the Hawaiian Islands, the recent Japanese tsunami in 2011, and the deadly 1906 earthquake in San Francisco, which lies at the end of the Ring of Fire.**

I yawned. I was near collapsing. Thank God there was only one more question left.

_Okay, so I wasn't descended from mythical figures. But for real, Tristan McLean is really my mom's dad. My mom's maiden name was Piper McLean- you've probably heard of her. And sentence structure? Gods, girl; that was a short story! At least shorten it! –Will_

I gritted my teeth. Of course, his mom probably was the ultra-beautiful Piper McLean, who could be a supermodel easily if she wanted to, but instead married some business man and settled down peacefully. She donates to charity all the time- and, sadly, looked somewhat like Will. I was still skeptical.

**Yes, I'm just sure that Tristan's your grandfather. Last note, just so you know. I'm not going to answer any more- far too tired. Question #10: Ampere.**

Alas, Will Grace just wouldn't leave me alone.

_Fat chance. You are awake enough to describe CHAOS THEORY. You get no sympathy. –Will_

Oh, my God. It was an easy theory. I sighed.

**Listen to me very carefully. Chaos theory is not a difficult thesis to understand. It pertains to the probability of uncalculated infractions or errors in an otherwise controllable situation, causing varied results to occur. This is demonstrated in the butterfly effect, which I assume you are familiar of. It's not that hard to understand, William.**

I watched Will's facial expression to turn to one of blinking and Caroline fish-mouths. He chucked another note at me.

_Gods, child. What the hell is the butterfly effect?! I have no IDEA what you are saying! VARIABLES? UNCALCULATED INFRACTIONS? WHAT THE HELL?! –Will_

I did a face-palm.

**You don't know what the butterfly effect is? Oh, Will- I can't explain this to you! The butterfly effect is the simplest of all branches regarding the chaos theory. If you don't know what the butterfly effect is… Okay, look. Just forget it. I really am tired, Will. Please LEAVE ME ALONE.**

Will scowled at me and threw another note.

_Oh, please. How could you possibly be so tired while explaining CHAOS THEORY? I am friends with a genius. Gods, help us. –Will_

I sighed.

**Chaos theory is not hard; it is simply somewhat complex. I can explain it in my sleep; please. Friends? I wasn't aware that friends KEPT THEIR FRIENDS AWAKE WHEN THEY NEED SLEEP. Really, though, are you polytheistic? I'm curious.**

Will replied quickly.

_Yes, it is complicated, dear friend, and extraordinarily difficult to understand. The sad thing is, I really do believe you can explain it in your sleep. We are friends. I am just the kind of friend who persists mercilessly on private details like a stalker. I apologize. Yes, I am polytheistic- with several different religions. My family really does branch off of Roman and Greek nobles, and I have Cherokee blood in me as well. I worship Roman gods, Greek gods, and Cherokee spirits. Just so you know. –Will_

Oh, that boy. He was going to be the end of me.

***Not complicated. Have you ever heard of ****_Jurassic Park_****? The book, not the movie; though the movie explains chaos theory somewhat as well, just not in as much detail. If you read that, you will see that it is actually quite simple; I am just a terrible explainer. And friends are not stalkers. Sorry. Do you really branch off of ancient civilizations? That is fantastically awesome, though how can you tell? I need to see a picture of your family tree. That would be helpful, just saying.**

I seriously doubted that he was descended from any Romans or Greeks, but he answered anyway.

_If you want to see, come to our house. We have an armory full of gold and bronze weapons, though I don't use them except for in the summer. And Jurassic Park… I think I've heard of it. I'll badger my mother, never fear. And friends ARE stalkers. I'm just the sort of crappy friend who cares about your well-being, sorry. Family tree? Uh- possibly. I will prepare for mother-badgering when I get home from school.-Will_

I laughed. My face warmed at the caring prospect, though I wasn't really sure why.

**You are so full of it, William Grace. Leave your poor mother alone, for God's sake. Thanks for caring, but trust me, you might want to rethink that.**

Will's face darkened, presumably at the last sentence. He shot me a glare as he tossed the note to me.

_I'm not full of it, I'm serious! Besides, my mother already thinks I'm insane, what with the whole punching the wall incident. And really, Marilyn, I care. Just tell me. I'm a good listener, after a while. -Will_

I swallow. I was tempted, but I figured I would tell Will half of the truth. No more than he needed.

**I've gotten approximately three hours of sleep out of forty-eight hours. Just so you know. I'm also kind of stressed, and Reese is pissed at me.**

I braced myself for Will's reaction. He snapped his head up, eyes livid.

_What the HELL? 3 HOURS? Explanations. Now. –Will_

I cringed.

**Just- stuff. Yeah, three hours, but I'm fine. I swear. You can tell Reese to let off my case. Don't worry. **

He glared at me.

_Not a chance. EXPLANATIONS. NOW. –Will_

Thank the Lord Jesus, Mrs. Bridge walked up to the room, her lips puckered. It looked as if she had just sucked on a lemon. She needed an attitude adjustment. Actually, everyone needed an attitude adjustment- Bridge, Margaret Waters, Reese, and Will. I was fine.

"You are dismissed," Bridge said sternly, and I grabbed my books before I could be bombarded by Will and Reese. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough.

"What the _hell_, Jackson?" Will demanded, blocking my path.

I winced. "Look, please, I'm fine. Just some- bad dreams."

Reese snorted. Where did she come from? "Bullshit, you liar."

Will whirled on Reese. "Do _you _know why she has that much sleep?"

Reese regarded him critically. "Yes."

"Well?" Will prompted.

I shot Reese a glare. We made eye contact, and Reese was the first to break it. "Daddy problems," she said simply.

"_Reese_," I hissed.

"What?" Will asked. He turned to me. "What is she talking about?"

"Get to your classes," Bridge said, and I took the opportune moment to pause and run.

I fled.

And I am not ashamed.

* * *

WILL'S POV

**I couldn't stop thinking about Reese's comment all day.**

It bothered me, worse than I cared to admit. Three hours of sleep just wasn't good for someone; regardless of their problems. There was something that Marilyn wasn't telling me, and it nagged at my brain. I remembered her vehement reaction when I had interrogated her about her family, and I felt sick inside.

The bus rocked to a stop, and I wrinkled my nose as the smell of bitter exhaust wafted in from my window. I peered outside, seeing my house up ahead. Next stop, Grace Residence. I frowned as I remembered my father's departure yesterday. It would be nice for him to stick around for Piper. Just so that she doesn't bite all of our heads off and all.

"Grace House up next," the bus driver called from the front. She was a middle-aged woman with a cloud of white-blonde hair that had been hair sprayed to the point of being a fire hazard. Her face dulled with the amounts of makeup piled on top, and she smacked her gum to the point that I could hear it from the back of her seat.

We caught a curb, and Janie shrieked as we were thrown into the air. Janie and Reid were both on my bus, as St. Gabriel ran from kindergarten to eighth grade. Needless to say, I hated the bus. The driver couldn't drive. My siblings were there. And I was stuck with seat number eight.

Seat number eight was the dreaded punishment for all students. As far as I knew, I had gotten stuck with it, every single year, because of my family's compromised situation. No one else wanted it, and it was that or seat number one. Seat number eight was bad because of the wheel-bump, or the large lump in the bus floor. For those of us who were decently tall, this made for cramped legs.

The bus choked out another puff of exhaust, and then lurched forward. I concentrated on keeping my food where it belonged. I succumbed very easily to carsickness, much to Janie's amusement. Carsickness wasn't funny, though. It made your head spin and your heart jump into your throat. You couldn't focus on anything- you felt sort of out of it. It was almost painful, actually.

"_What_?" Janie shouted, shaking her book. People turned to look at her, and I turned my head forward.

"Keep it down, Janice," I scolded.

"B-but-" she stammered, holding up a familiar book- _Divergent_. I rolled my eyes.

"Save it for Caroline. You guys can obsess over stupid Tobias and his melodramatic attitudes when I'm not around," I said.

"No- but we were destined to be together," Janie whined. "He's so perfect."

"Oh, my gods," I said, face-palming. "What happened to having a crush on Harrison?" I asked. Harrison was our cousin, and turning ten this summer. He was older than Janie, but she had a crush on him since- forever.

Janie blushes. "Harrison doesn't like me."

I wrinkled up my nose and held up a hand. "Please- I'm not good at girl stuff. Talk to Caroline," I said. I thought of Marilyn, and whatever secrets she was hiding. I swallowed. I couldn't even understand friends that were girls, let alone romantic relationships. I made a face. No way.

Janie stared at me. "Will? Yello?"

"What?" I muttered, coming back to life. "I'm just not good at girl stuff. Not even with girls in my grade. Or that are my friends."

Janie studied me, and then grinned. "Ooooh! Will's gotta cru-sh, Will's gotta cru-sh!"

"What? What are you talking about?" I demanded, just as the bus came rocking to a halt.

"I'm 'onna tell Mom," Janie said, sniggering.

My blood freezes. "You _wouldn't_," I hissed. Piper gets a bit- _obsessed _with our love lives. She got really invested when Caroline had a boyfriend back in Lincoln Park. I frowned. Caroline had to break up with him a week before we moved. She had said after her day of crying that a long-term relationship wasn't worth it when we would continuously move.

"I would," Janie said with a smirk.

"You better not," I warned.

"Grace Residence," the bus driver called.

I stood, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I looked around for Reid, and quirked a little smile as I saw the familiar messy blonde hair. Janie stood as well, her messenger bag over her shoulder. I sighed a little as she darted in front of me. She was going to tattle to Piper; I just knew it.

I thought back to Marilyn as I stepped down from the bus. Both Sam and Janie had presumed that I had a crush on her, and I didn't. I mean- she was really beautiful, and extremely smart, obviously, and funny, but she also came across as slightly scary, and self-deprecating, and- scared. Tired all the time. She wasn't full, she was one of those shadows of a person.

I set my mouth in a firm line. I did _not _have a crush on Marilyn Jackson. Nope. No matter how beautiful, or funny, or smart, or scary, or self-deprecating. I gritted my teeth. This was stupid Sam and Janie screwing with my head. I was going to strangle them.

Janie ran through our front door, Reid laughing and sprinting after her. I frowned. _Shit. _I was going to kill Janie. Now all I could think about was stupid Marilyn and her stupid face. Oh, my gods. I was going to _kill _Janie. And now Piper was going to get in my head as well. I felt like punching a wall again.

I walked through the door with a sense of forbidding. I could hear Janie's voice carrying through the airy rooms.

"Will has a crush," Janie sang.

"What?" Piper asked, chuckling.

Alright, time to intervene. I marched into our living room. "Hey Mom, what do you know about the chaos theory?"

Piper blinks. She's wearing a plaid button-down shirt of blues and greens, a pair of jeans, and Hunters for the rainy day. Her hair is pinned up in a sloppy bun. "What kind of question is that?"

"Just- what do you know about chaos theory? And the butterfly effect?" I prompted.

Piper shook her head. "What on Earth- chaos theory? Butterfly effect?" She massaged her temples. "They aren't teaching you this, right? I don't have to help with your homework?"

"Uh- no. The classes are way over my head anyway though. But really, chaos theory? And Jurassic Park?" I asked.

Janie stared at me as if I had grown horns. "Since when are you smart?"

I glared at her. "Since I wanted to keep up with my friends' conversations."

"Special friends?" Janie inquired, wiggling her eyebrows.

I lunged for her, but Piper stopped me. "_Stop _it, both of you," she chastised. "Janie, room. I have no doubt that you have homework. And Will- sit."

Janie huffed and stomped up the stairs, while I sat in our half-assembled first living room. The couches were a pale cream, with blue accents. I sat down on the couch as Piper settled down next to me. She swiveled towards me, her face contorted in thought.

"Will- what is this girl's name?" she asked with a sigh.

"Marilyn Jackson," I answered.

"Shit," Piper said, looking far away. "Describe her for me."

"Uh- okay. She's kinda short, I guess. Really pretty. She has green eyes and blonde curls," I said.

Piper smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Tell me about her."

"Look, I _don't _have a crush on her," I snapped.

"And yet, you come in here asking about the chaos theory. I'm not blind, William. I know my own son." Piper grimaced. "Look- I am going to say this once, and once only. You can choose to listen to me, or you can ignore me completely. Honestly, I don't mind which version."

"What are you getting at here?"

Piper took a deep breath. "I once knew a man. I also knew a woman. The man and the woman- they were close. Very."

"Names, please?" I prodded.

Piper shook her head. "No names. Just listen. The- the woman died. A long time ago. It was very hard on the man. As far as I know, they had a daughter. I'm not sure what happened to her, but I became scared of this man who used to be my friend. He- he changed. Completely. I am going to give you this piece of advice: stay away from Marilyn Jackson. Please. If you do, then a small sliver of peace can and will be preserved. If not- then become friends with her. Just know that if you do so, you will be digging up a large chunk of history better left forgotten."

"You're not telling me something," I said, my mouth set.

"Look at me, William Grace," my mother said. She grabbed my chin. "I've done a lot of things. I regret a lot of them now. But trust me when I tell you that you do not want to bring this man back into this world. You want to leave his daughter alone. You want to leave them both alone. If you bring them back into the world that we know, then Camp Half-Blood will never be the same. _Never_. I am not going to force you to do anything, but this girl- she is a legacy that should not be alive." Piper stood. "Consider it, please, William."

She left, leaving the smell of my mother- newly washed linens- lingering in the air. Gods. This was big, I could tell. Marilyn Jackson was a legacy, just like me. I didn't know who, or why this was so important, but I was determined to find out. I would solve the puzzle of Marilyn Jackson.

Marilyn had been a puzzle.

Now I had all of the pieces that I needed.

* * *

PERCY'S POV

_Annabeth laughed._

_ She sat next to me. The night was dark, the stars twinkling above, and I had my arm wrapped around her. The bonfire of Camp Half-Blood shone in the distance, sparks flying into the air. We were perched on a rock, right before the lake. The water was glassy, the silvery moon reflected in its surface._

_ "You are so full of it, Seaweed Brain," she joked, poking me in the arm._

_ I pulled her tightly. "And why is that?"_

_ "You knew that I had a crush on you?" Annabeth snorted. "Mm-hm."_

_ I considered this for a moment. Then, quick as lightning, I straightened, Annabeth in my arms, shrieking, and I tossed her into the lake. There was a large splash, and several onlookers laughed. I crossed my arms as a very wet Annabeth broke the surface of the water._

_ "Do I get a kiss now?" I prompted, pointing to my cheek._

_ "Come closer," Annabeth sighed. "Closer. Closer," she coached as I crouched down. She made like she was about to kiss me, but instead, she pulled me down, under the water. I spluttered the water out of my face._

_ "You are _so_dead, Wise Girl," I called as she screeched and swam away sloppily._

_ I caught up to her easily, stilling her body, and pulled her in for a long, deep kiss. The night was good._

_Life was good._

* * *

**I woke with my face wet.**

I let my chest heave, sobs being torn from my body. I laid in my bed, my sheets curled up in my fists. The bawling didn't stop, and I remembered that night clearly. My Annabeth. My sweet, sweet Annabeth.

I sobbed.

* * *

REESE'S POV

**I hated her.**

No, really. Despised. I absolutely could not stand Marilyn Jackson. It had come to that point. The point in which I could no longer handle the stupid, brilliant, beautiful Marilyn Jackson that practically _seduced _Will without even trying. My fists shook.

I was glaring at my wall, contemplating the many ways that she was infuriating. I had read her notes over Will's shoulder, and was completely disgusted. Of _course _the genius Marilyn Jackson had explained chaos theory, whatever the hell that was, and the butterfly effect. Jesus Christ. The world wasn't fair. Marilyn got the tradeoff of decent athletic abilities, insanity in the smarts department, being an incredible swimmer and diver, and gorgeous looks. I got- athletic abilities and height. The world _sucked_.

I felt a pang of guilt. I also got a family. Jamie, my younger brother. My mom. My dad. Marilyn's family was _dead_. Her father hated her. Still, I felt no compassion. She was such a goddamn backstabber. Will got all concerned about her, and practically ignored me the entire class. My hands trembled.

I was so _sick _of her. So goddamn sick of her stupid melodramatics, and my psychopath mother, and stupid Will for submitting to her dumb _façade_. Goddamn it. My mind whirled, and I got sucked into my violent thoughts.

Then my vision blacked out.

_THE EQUILIBRIUM WILL BE BROKEN._

_THE OCEAN WALKS WITH US ONCE MORE._

_THE SHADOW OF A LOVER BECOMES A WARRIOR._

_LIGHTNING AND LOVE CONVERGE._

_THE EQUILIBRIUM FALLS._

The words flash in my vision, and I scream. It hurt so fricking bad. Everywhere. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see. I felt blinded, and there was a ringing in my ears. I wailed and screamed for my mother, for my father, for my brother, for _anyone._ I wished for the pain to stop. It was so excruciating.

My vision blacked out.


	8. Chapter 8: Silvers and Strifes

A/N: I'm baaack! Sorry if this chapter is a little shorter than normal, but I promise the next chapter will be longer! Enjoy, and please review!

Here we go with chapter eight...

* * *

Chapter Eight

MARILYN'S POV

* * *

_I woke in the meadow._

_ It was night, and a shiver ran up my spine. It was not the kind of night that I had witnessed before, with the stars twinkling and the wood smoke pungent in the air, but the kind of night that is a calm, cool, collected thing, a cold thing. There was no moon suspended in the sky, and dark, smoky clouds obscured the stars from sight._

_ I was lying on spongy ground. Grass tickled my spine, and I felt a frigid moistness seep into my shirt. I straightened, brushing off the lingering grass fragments. My shirt was sopping wet, and it chilled me to the bone. I stood, studying the perimeter of the forest closely._

_ Just as it had been before, a blue tremor ran through the shield, illuminating the night clearly. I glanced over to the sleeping dragon and glinting fleece, pondering the make of this dream. Usually, one doesn't experience dreams thrice, after all._

_ My curiosity won out. I took a tentative step forward, wincing at the freezing temperature of the marshy ground. With a few more steps, I was there, at the edge of the forest, a thirteen year-old girl in My Little Pony pajamas._

_ Then, quickly, on impulse, I stuck my hand through the barrier._

_ Nothing happened._

_ My hand fell right through the wispy blue as if it were air. I caused no ripples of tension in the surface, I awakened no dragons, and I disturbed no careful balance. On inclination, I stepped through the barrier, leaving the muddy swamp behind me._

_ I felt the sharp tickle of pine needles against my feet and winced. Pine needles looked to be deceptively soft, but in reality, they were pointed and sharp. Not to say that you could wield a pine needle as a weapon, of course, but they certainly were painful barefoot._

_ I looked up at the sky, and was shocked to find it perfectly clear. The moon was still absent, of course, but the stars were as prominent as ever- perhaps even more so then I had ever seen. I was startled to find that I could pick out constellations that I had never seen before. It was a mixture of eerie and beautiful mixed together._

_ I strained my eyes to see further ahead, and to my relief the stern pinecone entrance eventually gave way to deciduous trees. I walked even further, ignoring the throbbing in my feet. _

_ I yawned as the pine trees dimmed behind me. I wondered if it was even possible to get truly tired in a dream. It didn't seem to be, but, then again, I had been wrong before. My thoughts darted back to the shimmery barricade. _

_ Since this was a dream, I wondered if I could wake up just by sleeping. I wrinkled my nose, dismissing the thought. I was not keen on the idea of submitting myself to ground that smelled far too much like animal droppings._

_ There was a flicker in the corner of my vision._

_ I jumped, startled. It came again- a small, orange-red flicker. My curiosity got the best of me, and I began to tread carefully, striding in the direction of the flame. I recognized the scent, I realized: wood smoke. I was seeing a fire._

_ I frowned, looking up at the sky once more. There was no black haze blocking the stars from view- it wasn't a forest fire. That left two options; either there was a fire several miles from here, or it was a manmade flame. I decided to find out._

_ I walked cautiously, following the light. It became brighter, more luminous, and bathed the trunks of trees in a golden glow. And, to my shock, as I walked even further, I heard something._

_ Singing._

_ I peeked my head out from the trees, and saw a group of about fifty or sixty kids, from five to twenty, singing and giggling around the campfire. Strangely enough, there was also- a man riding a horse._

_ No, a man- and a horse._

_ It was a centaur, I realized. I felt an aching in my chest as they all sang together, a song about grandmothers getting ready for war. A strange dream, perhaps, but as I took in the gentle, glowing aura, I was envious of these children._

_ The fire sparked higher, sending embers flying into the air._

_ They drifted down, slowly going from vibrant red to a dim, dead black._

* * *

**I woke.**

As I laid in my bed, exhausted, I realized that this was different than the times I had awoken from this dream previously. I wasn't terrified out of my mind, basically, and it was a nice feeling. I was just a bit- perturbed. A centaur, a shimmery barrier, woods, the Golden Fleece, and a dragon. I think I was perhaps a little too involved in my world History class regarding Greek mythology.

I stepped out of my bed, grimacing at the time: 3:00 A.M. Apparently, there was a divine force stopping me from ever getting a decent night of sleep. I already knew what I would find when I walked to the mirror. When I did, I was not at all surprised to find a matted mass of mud and scratches on my feet, and a lone leaf stuck to my hair. A few pine needles clung to the bottom of my pajama pants.

This was starting to scare me. I looked at my bed, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I realized that I was afraid to sleep again. Afraid of the dragon, the fleece, but most of all, my impending insanity. Right now, I had no evidence to say that I wasn't physically going insane. It terrified me. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind, though its grim suggestion lingered.

I grabbed my phone from my dresser. I opened messages and tapped on compose. I started typing quickly.

**do u know about dream interpretations?**

My fingers hovered over the send button. I was reluctant to text Reese, especially since she was probably asleep and angry at me. I didn't know why, but it bothered me. The last time we had a fight was in fifth grade, when Reese got the last chocolate ice cream cup for a kid's birthday in our class and I got stuck with measly vanilla. Our fights weren't very serious, needless to say.

I clicked send anyway, figuring I needed to make up with Reese. I was just going to have to weasel her motive for anger out of her. I couldn't lose Reese; she was the only friend I had. I thought back to Will. Well, the only _long-term _friend I had.

I waited for a while. Checking my phone constantly, I was upset and a bit miffed that Reese hadn't replied. She was my best friend, after all. I shrugged it off, though a sense of unease remained in me.

I looked at the clock after a while- 4:00 A.M. Jesus Christ, how pathetic was that? I had been staring at my phone for an hour. A full hour. I swallowed. I really needed someone to talk to, and the only other person who I remotely could was- Will.

As soon as the suggestion came to me, I waved it aside. No way. I didn't even have Will's number, and I barely knew him. I brushed the hair out of my face. Will probably wouldn't hold me accountable, but I couldn't text someone I hardly knew at 4:02 A.M. It just wasn't right.

I sighed. I needed to take a walk. Just to clear my head.

I walked over to my bathroom. I took a moment, sponging off the dirt carefully and rubbing antiseptic on my scratches. I was too tired to take a bath or shower; I could hardly see in front of me. My vision was doubled.

I dressed in my uniform slowly, taking care to button myself up- and there was also the account that I was too tired to hardly even move. I took a deep breath. There were things to be worried about, and then there were things to ignore. I was being a melodramatic drama queen.

My phone buzzed, and I practically sprinted over to check it. I deflated as I saw that it was from some random stranger. I pressed the text message.

**Hello, Marilyn! It's Mrs. Winters. Reese had an accident last night. She'll be fine; Reese is just going to be out of school today and possibly tomorrow. Please collect her homework for her. Thank you!**

I feel relieved and anxious at the same time- relieved that Reese wasn't so blatantly angry with me that she wouldn't return any of my messages, and anxious that she had been in an accident. I type quickly.

_Hello, Mrs. Winters. I'll collect Reese's homework. What happened to her?_

My phone buzzed not much longer.

**She's fine; Reese just tripped and went unconscious. We're in the ER. She should be back by tomorrow, but we'll see what the doctors say. Thank you so much, Marilyn.**

I furrowed my eyebrows. I was ninety percent sure that tripping didn't make Reese go unconscious; she was nowhere near as clumsy as me. I considered this, and shrugged. I was in seven out of eight of her classes.

_OK. Tell her to feel better!_

I checked my clock. I didn't normally go walking around the neighborhood at 5:00 A.M, but then again, I wasn't necessarily sane. And I needed coffee. Badly. My phone vibrated, and I saw Mrs. Winter's messages.

**Thanks, honey! I will!**

I took a deep breath. My life couldn't ever be normal. I wasn't going to wake up to my mom making me oatmeal for breakfast downstairs. As much as I loved pretending, it just wasn't logical, as much as I wanted a new reality.

My thoughts drifted once more to my mother. I realized that I had thought about her more in the past week than I had in the past two years, and my father wasn't particularly happy about that fact. I bit my lip just as an idea lit up in my head.

My birth records. I chewed my cheek in excitement. My mom's name was probably on them. I considered this. As opposed to taking a walk at five o' clock in the morning and my father physically killing me, I could poke around my house.

I cracked open my door, peering outside. The air was thick with silence and inactivity in the eerie way that houses sometimes were. Stepping forward, I winced as the floorboards creaked. I had never prodded around my house before, and I was slightly exhilarated and terrified at the same time.

I stood outside my door, suddenly realizing what a stupid idea this was. For one, where was I even going to start? The question weighed on me heavily- this was such a stupid, impulsive plan. Nevertheless, I pondered it, and decided I would start with my father's office. I gulped. If my father caught me, I was so dead.

I hunched my shoulders in resolve, heading down my hallway. Just something. A name. A shiver ran up my spine as I thought of seeing a picture. I would see my mom. My mom. The woman who gave birth to me. The woman that I never knew.

I blinked my wet eyes, treading down the stairs carefully. The living room greeted me, the black furniture and mahogany floors impassive. I wondered if my mother had walked these floors once. I thought of her feet traipsing carefully over the wood. I wondered what perfume she wore. What shampoo she used.

I broke myself from my thoughts as I stood in front of the white wooden door. Beyond was my father's office, and I shivered in anticipation. I thought of his dark wooden desk. In one of those drawers there might have been something regarding my mother. I gathered my courage. I could do this.

I gently eased the door open and sat down in my father's chair. I brushed my fingers over the desk lightly. It was messy, papers strewn everywhere. It gave me OCD just looking at it.

I opened the first drawer, and sighed to find it full of pencils. With disgust, I realized my father chewed his pencils. The yellow sticks were riddled with little dents and bite marks. I shrugged. I learned something new every day.

I looked down to my right. There were two drawers, one on the top and one on the bottom. I looked in the top to find it full of recites. Purely recites; from stores, business transactions, and banks. I opened the next drawer to find it full of thank-you cards.

I slammed my knuckles down on the second drawer in frustration. There was nowhere else for me to look. This was it.

The sound of my knuckles against the drawer made a hollow sound.

I stared at the drawer, and knocked softly on it. Again, there was the hollow sound. I pulled out the stacks of thank-you cards, rapping my knuckles once more. I pressed the bottom of the bin. The fake bottom fell through, admitting a small box.

I picked it up. It was small and dark blue, with golden letters on it reading _Love_. Gold elegance scripted the edge of the box, and, with a gentle precaution, I opened it.

Inside the box were two things. The first was a wedding ring, a tiny band of silver with a single diamond. A lump rose in my throat as I saw the other thing- a small silver necklace with owl on it. The silver was slightly tarnished with years of no use, and dull bronze blemishes were scattered all over it.

Without thinking, I fastened the clasp around my neck. The cool silver sent a shudder through me. I put the necklace under my shirt, feeling the cold metal rest against my collarbone. A single tear ran down my cheek, and I wiped it away quickly.

I gingerly placed the ring back into the box. A feeling of guilt settled in my stomach. I shouldn't have invaded my father's privacy. I adjusted the drawer again, placing the thank-you cards in their haphazard stacks.

I fingered the necklace. I was ninety percent sure that it belonged to my mom, and I closed my eyes, imagining it resting at the same spot on her skin. I envision her fingers caressing the necklace as I am doing now, and an uncomfortable burning feeling starts in my chest.

"Marilyn!" Jenny called. "Time to get up!"

"Coming," I shouted back hoarsely.

I had already been awake for a very long time.

* * *

WILL'S POV

**I walked into science class with a sense of forbidding.**

I saw Marilyn at her seat, yawning into her palms. Heading over to her, I mulled over the thoughts of my mother's absurd proclamation. I was furious about them. If Piper didn't want to give me answers to thousands of unasked, impending questions, then that was fine by me. That being said, I was under no circumstances going to submit to her oddities if she didn't give me rebuttals.

Marilyn sagged, nearly falling asleep. I smirked, hovering my hand an inch in front of her face, and snapped my fingers.

Marilyn blinked open her eyes sleepily. "Mwha?"

My eyebrows shot up. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

She averted her eyes. "Uh- eight hours."

"Liar. Try again."

"Will, I'm really not in the mood," she said, her green eyes piercing.

"I'm not either. Quit with the bullshit. How much sleep?" I asked.

Marilyn sighed. "I think- a half an hour, maybe?"

I stared at her for a long time, and finally just yanked her shirt sleeve, pulling her to her feet. Marilyn yelped. "What was that for?"

I looked at her directly in the eyes. "You are going to collapse if you don't get some help, and fast. Go home. You need to sleep, Marilyn."

"No!" Marilyn said. Her eyes changed from comatose to wide awake. "No, I'm fine," she insisted, her voice shaking.

I studied her for a moment. Then, "What the _hell _is going on?"

She cringed. "You really don't want to know, Will."

I rolled my eyes. "Try me. I'm dead serious." I think of Piper's insistence to get away, and a part of my resistance breaks. "If you don't, then honestly, I'm not very sure that I want to be friends with you. Secrets are something that I have no tolerance for."

"You know, that could make you a stalker as opposed to a friend," she told me, diverting her eyes.

"Get to the point, Marilyn. I'm serious."

"Are you seriously giving me an ultimatum?" she demanded, her voice trembling.

"Yes," I said.

"I come with a lot of emotional baggage, Will," Marilyn said, averting her eyes.

"Marilyn, for the seven hundredth time, I. Don't. Care. So stop with the excuses and actually talk, for once in your goddamn life," I snapped.

"Fine. I don't have any parents. That good enough for you?" Marilyn said, throwing up her hands.

"So?" I asked.

Marilyn looked at me like I was crazy. "My father hates me, and my mother is dead. Isn't that an answer?"

"No, actually, it's not," I replied.

"Then why the hell do you care?" she demanded.

I leaned against the wall. "Honestly? I think it's becoming increasingly apparent that you're letting your father dictate your life. I think you're scared and living in a constant pity-party of remorse over a woman you never knew and a father you wished you had. I don't mean to be not understanding, but you're not in control of your life. Marilyn, you're losing sleep over your father who, all things considered, you should probably hate. Think about it. If he doesn't care, then why do you? Really? Have you actually thought about that before? It's because you care about him, right? And you want a father. You want him to care back. So you give him the advantage that he doesn't deserve." I looked at her without pity. "You're scared. You live in a constant state of panic and self-deprecation, which you clearly don't deserve. You want to know why Reese is angry with you." I snorted. "Look at yourself. Afraid to look yourself in a damn mirror because of your father." I shook my head. "You give him the power to control you, Marilyn."

Marilyn stared at me for a long time. Her voice broke. "You don't get it, do you?" she asked, her voice thin. She pointed to her forearm, where a large, purplish bruise was. "This is what he does to me."

I raised my eyebrows. "So fight back."

"What?"

"You heard me. Fight back. Honestly, Marilyn. You live in this- this- inferiority complex. I've known you about three days. In that time, you've gotten four hours of sleep and have made it completely clear that you have very little respect for yourself. I've seen a hell of a lot worse than your situation," I said, thinking to the endless stress cases at Camp Half-Blood.

"Oh really?" she said, getting the spark to ignite in her. "And I suppose you would know, with your perfect family?"

"Would you like to know why my family is the way it is?" I demanded. "I know what you are, Marilyn Jackson."

Marilyn widened her eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

I got a brilliant idea. I didn't know about her family history, but perhaps Marilyn could find out for me. I scoffed. "Oh, please. Ask your father, if you really don't know."

She stared at me. "No, William Grace, what am I?" She seemed legitimately scared. "I'm not insane, am I?"

Confusion seeped into me. "What do you mean, insane?"

Marilyn shook her head. "Never mind. Oh, and by the way?"

"What?"

She slapped me across the face. I reeled in shock. People turned to stare at Marilyn and me, who doubtless had a welt on my cheek. My face stung, and I staggered back. I felt anger coursing through my veins, and I did what any sensible boy would do.

I punched her in the nose.

Marilyn gasped as blood began to trickle down into her mouth. She grabbed a fistful of my shirt, but my training kicked in. No way in hell was she going to win this fight. I felt anger surging up in me as she kicked my stomach, causing me to lose my breath.

I grabbed her hair as she shrieked. All of a sudden, there was a creak and a groan, and pipes were wrenched from the ground, making pieces of floor tiles and debris fly everywhere. Water spurted out of pipes, making me sopping wet.

Before I knew what I was doing, my fingers felt alive with the buzzing, static charge that came before my lightning kicked in. I thrust my hand forward, and a crackle of light sent Marilyn flying backwards.

Smoke billowed up to the ceiling, and there was a beep as the sprinkler system turned on. All of the water turned towards me, pelting me with tiny, needle-like droplets that blinded me. They spattered on my skin, and Marilyn groaned. She staggered up.

"_What _is going on here?"

The sprinklers stopped, admitting Mrs. Bridge's imposing figure. Her eyes widened at our demolished states. She pressed her lips firmly together. "Office. _Now_. I shall let your appearance speak for you." She stopped at that. "Detention for one- no, two- months. I am appalled at the both of you. Get out of my sight. Now."

We walked, our heads bowed. Chatter surfaced in the hallways, and I saw Sam. His arms were crossed, and as I passed him, he muttered, "I told you so, mate."

"Shut up," I said under my breath.

Marilyn glared at me. "I can hear you, asshole."

"That was kind of the point, bitch," I replied. "Wonder how Daddy's 'onna like you now, huh?

Marilyn paled. "_Shit_," she whispered.

"You think that's bad, just wait until you see my mother. She is going to physically strangle me, especially since I Iost control. Piper's going to physically kill me," I told her.

"At least you have a mother," Marilyn said.

"Yep, I do. Glad you took a break from the self-pity party to notice that," I said.

She glared at me, and then took out a necklace. It had an owl on it- that explained a lot. Her mom was probably Athena, then. New pieces for my puzzle. I made a mental note to check daughters of Athena that had died recently. "This is all I have of my mother. And I stole it."

I had no pity. Most of the kids at Camp Half-Blood had nothing. "Goody for you, honey. Want to drown your sorrows some more in self-pity? Oh, wait, I didn't think that was possible."

"Shut the hell up, Grace. You don't know shit. Stop pretending that you do," Marilyn said, her eyes livid.

"Coming from the girl under the influence of no sleep whatsoever. Pardon me if I don't take your thoughts into consideration."

A water fountain blew up, the water spraying me in the face. People stared, and Marilyn glared at the drinking utility. "If that wasn't ironic timing, then I'm not really sure what is," she said finally.

I punched her in the jaw. "Bitch."

Marilyn jammed her foot down on mine, making me emit a startled yelp of pain. "Jackass," she spat.

I started toward her, but a teacher grabbed us by the scruffs of our necks. "Come along," the teacher said. "I'm sure Mr. Newman is expecting you."

I felt fear, then, as I walk into the office. Rightly so, it seems.

People stood up slowly, staring at us. The secretary clapped a hand to her mouth as Mr. Newman walks out of his office. He was oblivious to us, not giving a second glance. Newman hadn't

"Franny, can I get the papers from yesterday?" he asked.

Franny pointed to us, her hand shaking. Newman turned, a grin plastered on his face, until he saw me- and Marilyn. His jaw dropped, hanging slack from his face. I met his gaze reluctantly.

"Office," he said after a long, pregnant pause. "Now."

I hung my head, walking along beside Marilyn, who looked ill. "This is your fault, you know," I muttered.

A water glass shattered. I raised my eyebrows. "Destruction seems to follow you," I said, my voice low.

"You're right," Marilyn replied. "You do."

Before I could have the chance to say anything, she walked inside. I snarled under my breath, and eventually followed her in.

I knew I was doomed.

And I promised myself I would never forgive Marilyn for it.

* * *

PIPER'S POV

**I sighed.**

I gazed at my calendar, trying to make the mountain of work disappear. I had a doctor's appointment tomorrow, for one thing, but at the same time, Caroline had a music recital, and Will, Janie, and Reid had parent-teacher conferences. Nothing could ever be simple in my house. With a pang, I wished Jason were here. Again. It would have been nice to have someone to help. Quinn was great; she just wasn't a mom.

My cellphone rang, and I picked it up. I knit my eyebrows together at the caller ID- _St. Gabriel_. A knot began to form in my stomach, twisting up tight. I hoped to gods that there was no problem with my kids.

"Hello?" I asked, drumming my fingers on the black granite countertop.

"Hello. This is Jack Newman, the principal of St. Gabriel. Is this Piper Grace currently speaking?"

"Yes," I said slowly.

Jack sighed, and there was a rustling on the other side of the line, like he was fidgeting. "Mrs. Grace- I'm going to get straight to the point here. Your eldest son, William, has been in a fight."

My heart froze. "How bad?" I queried, thinking of all of the possible exposure that could have happened. I hoped to gods that the Mist hadn't been involved. Four of our moves over the past few years had been because of demigod incidents.

"Quite bad. He broke another girl's nose, knocked a tooth out, and- somehow sent off the sprinkler system. That was the damage on his end. The girl bruised him quite badly, and due to the explosion of water pipes, sprinklers, and a water fountain, he is- wet. Very wet."

_Shit_. There was no way that the explosions were plumbing issues. My intuition told me exactly who this girl was; none other than Marilyn Jackson. It was becoming increasingly apparent to me that this Marilyn Jackson was a legacy who had a knack for her father's talents. Anger began to overtake me- Will was fourteen years old. He knew how to control himself. I clenched my fists. "Where is he?" I said coldly.

"The girl- Marilyn Jackson- and your son are both in the nurse's office, receiving medical attention. I am calling both parents. Both children are suspended for tomorrow, Friday the fifth of March, and are condemned to a two-month after school detention. They are prohibited from joining any school clubs. You are to pick your son up as soon as possible."

My voice shook as I spoke. "Oh, Mr. Newman, you can be _certain _that my son will be punished. I'll be there within the next ten minutes." I hung up, and grabbed my brown leather coat from where it was slung on the back of a chair.

"I'm leaving!" I called.

Bertha came into our kitchen, wiping her floury hands on her apron. "What for?" she asked, her voice tinged with the slightest Scottish burr.

I zipped up my coat. "I need to go get my son," I said. "And speak to a certain man."

"Who?"

I grimaced. "A man named Perseus Jackson, hopefully."

I was certain now that I would speak to him. I would see the man that I had not seen for eleven years that had passed since his wife passed away. I would see his daughter, Marilyn Jackson, and I would be reunited with the Jackson family.

I walked out of my front door, swinging the heavy oak behind me. The air was moist and humid, laced with the scents of wet mulch and the first leaves of green shooting up from the cold ground. A cool wind whipped around my hair, and I pondered my decision. I became surer and surer of my choice as I ran over the facts.

The time had come for the reuniting.

It had only been a matter of time, after all.

* * *

REESE'S POV

**I woke with a start.**

The words flashed in my vision like they had been emblazoned in my mind. My throat choked up, and I straightened, gasping for air. Everything seemed sharper- the colors around me more vivid, the sounds more prominent, the scents more pungent. I realized I was in my bedroom, cocooned in a mass of blankets.

THE EQUILIBRIUM WILL BE BROKEN.

THE OCEAN WALKS WITH US ONCE MORE.

THE SHADOW OF A LOVER BECOMES A WARRIOR.

LIGHTNING AND LOVE CONVERGE.

THE EQUILIBRIUM FALLS.

Those are the words that had overtaken me before I blacked out. I blinked, and saw that my mother is sitting beside me, a strained smile on her face. My mother has always been beautiful- it is something I envy. We share the same wild, red mass of curly hair, but that is where the similarities stop. While her eyes are a striking green, mine are a clear, watery, pale blue. Her nose is small and her freckles gently spattered, while I have my father's strong, masculine face and an annoying abundance of freckles.

She smoothed my hair, brushing it back lightly. A pit began to form in my stomach, writhing in anxiety and anticipation. I swallowed, not knowing exactly what my words meant, but asking them anyway.

"It's starting, isn't it?" I said, my voice small, thin, and hoarse.

"Yes," my mother said, her eyes faraway. She smiled, but it came as more of a grimace. She spoke once more, her voice sharp, clear, and crisp.

"The equilibrium is being broken," she murmured.

The equilibrium has fallen.


	9. Chapter 9: Obstinances and Oracles

A/N: Hey, there! I'm back with another chapter... these will slow down a bit as I get into soccer season, though; just a warning. Thanks again for all the helpful reviewers!

Here we go with Chapter Nine...

* * *

MARILYN'S POV

**I twiddled my thumbs.**

The nurse's office around me was deserted. The stuffy silence threatened to suffocate me, and I tapped my leg. I went over once more the harsh reality of my predicament. A fight. I, Marilyn Jackson, had been in a true and legitimate fight. I swallowed the rising lump in my throat.

I surveyed the stifling room for the hundredth time. It was a small space; four cream walls tacked with endless posters of athletes, various diseases, and health pyramids. The leftmost wall was composed of mainly windows on the top half, though blinds had been pulled down. Cheap chairs were set up in a line beneath the windows. The back wall had three cots, one of which I was occupying, and a sink. The rightmost wall had large cabinets and a scale, and the front wall had Nurse Johnson's desk. The entire place smelled of antiseptic and wipes.

The door opened, and I snapped up my head, glad for the diversion. It was a tiny sniffling girl, soaked to the bone with water. A pang of guilt pierced my heart- that would be Will and I's doing. She didn't look to be older than nine years; a tiny thing, Italian-looking with dark, rich brown hair, hazel eyes, and thin lips. She had a bloody nose, I realized, but Nurse Johnson was gone.

"D-d- y-you k-kn-ow w-whe-re Nurse John-s-son is?" she stuttered, her eyes landing on my bruised cheekbone and most likely broken nose.

I shook my head. I really didn't; she had gone with Will a while back to check him for injuries, though I wasn't sure where. "No, sorry," I said, the guilt increasing.

She began to cry, and I resisted the urge to run. I wasn't good with children- they sprinted away as soon as they could from my sight. I hunched my shoulders in resolve. If karma did exist, then I had a lot of bad. I figured I could use some good. "Hey- what's your name?" I asked cautiously.

"B-Bonnie," she said, her voice still shaking.

I nodded, and then stood. I walked over to the sink, yanking a paper towel from the pewter dispenser. It was brown, and coarse, but it would have to do. "Here," I said, gently handing her the paper. "Pinch your nose with this, and tilt your head back."

Bonnie nodded, doing as I said, and went over to the cabinets. I poked around, finally finding a stack of towels. Her teeth had begun to chatter, and I wrapped a thin green towel around her shoulders.

"Thanks," she whispered.

"Welcome," I said. "Here, let me check that." I pointed to her bloody paper towel, and I tried not to wrinkle my nose in disgust. I got another paper towel, and Bonnie did the same with the first. "Keep that on for another thirty seconds, and then switch it, okay?"

"'K," Bonnie answered, her voice nasally from plugging her nose.

I laughed a little. "Alright."

The door opened again, admitting Nurse Johnson and Will. I cringed at Will's murderous glare, and Nurse Johnson shot me a look as well. Johnson walked over to Bonnie.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked, though her tone implied that she couldn't care less. I couldn't help thinking that the middle-aged nurse was imposing. She was stern, mean, and, in general, unconcerned for our well-being. Ninety percent of time, she sent us back to class with a peppermint. Kids dreaded coming to the nurse's office at St. Gabriel.

Bonnie nodded. "She helped me," she said, pointing to me.

I reddened as Nurse Johnson glared at me. "What exactly did she do?"

"She gave me a paper towel and told me to pinch my nose and lean my head back," Bonnie told her.

Johnson snorted. "Looks like a student finally knows how to handle a bloody nose. Back to class, Bonnie."

Bonnie nodded dutifully as Johnson turned a critical eye to me. "Sit back down, Miss Jackson, before you injure yourself further."

I looked at Will, who was shooting daggers at me. "Um- Mrs. Johnson, are you positive that we should be in the same room together?"

"No," Johnson said. "But honestly, I don't care. Fight all you want and impair yourselves. I am going to make the assumption that you two eighth graders can handle the next ten minutes until your parents arrive."

My mouth felt dry. "Our- parents?" I asked, my voice sounding far away.

Johnson nodded. "You don't need to repeat it, Miss Jackson. Both of you, sit, and stop talking. You're going to give me a migraine with your endless chatter." She shuffled some papers on her desk. "If you'll excuse me, I have to deliver some papers. I trust that you can survive five minutes without me." She walked out of the office, the door slamming behind her.

Will crossed his arms arrogantly and leaned against the cot. The gesture made me want to punch him in the face. He smirked. "So- is this what you had in mind, Jackson?"

"No." My answer was short, curt, and clipped.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Yes, really, you ass hat," I snapped.

"Vocabulary shining as ever," he commented.

"Coming from the boy who commented on 'sadist bitch'."

"You know- I do believe that's a term in the dictionary. And underneath it, there's a picture of you," he told me.

"You are such an asshole," I said.

"Likewise," he shot back.

"You're more of an asshole," I said, at a loss for what else to say.

"Gods. _That _was your comeback? I take back the girl genius comment." That stupid smug smile of his was plastered on my face, really making me want to punch him even more. I took a deep breath. It was just the sleep deprivation talking.

"_Te egyarrogáns, szörnyű, visszataszítóseggfej,_" I said.

Will knitted his eyebrows together. "Excuse me, what did you say?"

"_Mostkiazseni, teseggfej_?" I asked him with a grin.

"Are you talking in a foreign language?" Will asked, his eyes wide.

I smiled. "_Igen.Hát itt vagy, idióta_," I told him with a grin. Oh, the wonders of being a multi-lingual seventh grader. Swedish rocked.

"What did you say?" Will demanded.

I smiled. "I said: You are an arrogant, repulsive, horrid asshole. Then- Now who is the genius, you asshat? And, finally: Yes, there you are, idiot."

Will stared at me.

"Still revoke the statement about my brilliance?" I asked, crossing my arms.

Will shook his head. "You are one of a kind, Jackson."

I made a face at him just as the door opened once more. A sinking feeling began in the pit of my stomach as I realized that it was Mr. Newman who opened the door, not Johnson.

"Both of you, outside. Now," Newman said. "Mr. Grace, your mother is here to pick you up."

Will widened his eyes in panic, and I imagined I looked much the same. Nevertheless, we followed Newman out to the lobby, where a young woman was waiting.

The definition of beauty is this: the quality present in a thing or person that gives intense pleasure or deep satisfaction to the mind, whether arising from sensory manifestations (as shape, color, sound, etc.), a meaningful design or pattern, or something else (as a personality in which high spiritual qualities are manifest). I had never really understood the true meaning of beautiful until I saw Will's mom.

She was beautiful. I mean, _really _beautiful. She had these dark brown chocolate curls that framed her high cheekbones and spiraled down mid-back. Her skin was a light coffee color- like Will's- and her lips were full. Yet- there was no noticeable makeup applied, or anything like that, despite her popping kaleidoscope eyes. She was tall, maybe a little under six feet, and wearing dark blue designer jeans, a white shirt, and a brown leather jacket that must have cost a fortune. She had suede leather boots that emphasized her calves. All in all, her outfit probably cost more than my wardrobe combined, she was drop-dead gorgeous, and surprisingly young.

And, at this very moment, she looked furious.

"_William Grace_," Mrs. Grace said, her face contorted in anger. "You are in _so _much trouble, young man."

Will took a step backwards. As I looked at Mrs. Grace, I got the impression that she was a lot more fearsome than she looked. "Look, Mom, you gotta believe me-"

"Just _wait _until I call your father!" Mrs. Grace continued, her voice rising an octave. "This is just the beginning of your punishments!"

Will paled. "You're going to tell Dad?"

Mrs. Grace laughed, but it came out as a bitter, harsh sound. "Oh, William, you had better be ready to tell him yourself. This is coming from you, not from me."

"_What_?" Will yelped.

"You heard me," Mrs. Grace said. "Gods, I cannot believe the nerve that you had. You are _fourteen shitting years old_! You know very damn well how to control your damn temper!"

People began to stare. Will gulped.

And, just as things couldn't get any worse, they did.

My damn father walked in the door.

All in his glory, all six feet and eleven inches of him. He looked cool as always, his jet black hair loose and uncontrolled. Green eyes shone angrily from his masculine face, and his mouth was set in a determined line. He wore a black North Face polar Tec jacket, jeans, and black Nike gym shoes. That wasn't the most surprising thing about the whole encounter, though.

He wasn't looking at me.

My father was looking at Mrs. Grace.

Mrs. Grace seemed to realize that Will was staring at someone else, and she turned. Her eyes dilated, and her lips pressed down in a hard line. "Percy," she said curtly, though her voice trembled slightly. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Piper," my father said curtly. His eyes fell on me, and his true furious state began to show. I shrank back. "Let's go, Marilyn. We will discuss this at home."

Oh, shit. No public. My heart began to beat faster. I was actually afraid to go home. For the first time in my life, I was legitimately terrified for my well-being. I had no idea what my father was going to do to me. Without being in public, I had a reason to fear him. I gulped, trying to move, though my feet seemed glued to the floor, as if held there by invisible ropes.

"Running away, Percy? Seems familiar, doesn't it?" Piper said, her voice deceptively airy and light. Her eyes showed her true intent- they were hard and bright.

"Shut up," my father growled. "Marilyn, _now_."

"Oh, no, Percy. It's so good to see you again, after all these years." Piper's eyes landed on me. "And that would be Marilyn? Goodness, she does look like _Annabeth, _doesn't she?"

There was a creak and a groan as another water pipe burst from the ground, spraying water everywhere. My father's hand was on Piper's neck before anyone could say anything, and Mrs. Grace was pinned up against a cinderblock wall.

"Don't _ever say her name again_," my father hissed. "You _bitch_."

My mind reeled. Annabeth. Annabeth. Annabeth. That was someone important, clearly. Annabeth. A flashback came through my mind, though it was brief.

_"Oh, my gods, Percy, careful with Mari! She's not a toy!"_

_"Ah! I don't know what I'm doing, Annabeth!"_

_"Here- hold her like- this." There was an adjusting of my vision, and I saw a beautiful face with stern grey eyes looking down at me._

Annabeth.

"Hey, let go of my mother!" Will shouted, stepping forward. A sinking feeling began to manifest in my stomach. A knot began to form, writhing uncomfortably. My father turned his head towards Will with a cruel sneer.

"This would be your son. William, isn't it?" my father asked, crooking his head towards Piper.

Piper's eyes began to show true fear. "Don't touch him. Don't you dare lay a damn hand on my son, you son of a bitch."

My father smirked and released Piper, letting her collapse like a sack of potatoes. She gasped, her chest heaving. "You're a bit rusty on the charmspeak, aren't you, Piper?" my father asked. He turned his attention to Will. "Boy, don't ever tell me to do anything ever again. Is that clear?"

Will's nostrils flared. "No. Step away from my mother. Now."

"Will, stop," Piper said. The tension in the room at this point was palpable. All staff members were staring at us, frozen mid-work. I swallowed. This was not good. Not good at all.

"No!" Will shouted. He turned to my father. "Let go of her!"

My father raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really, William? And you think you can make me do anything?" He smiles, but his eyes are cold and piercing. "You take after your father, I assume, in that."

"Just stay away from my family!" Will yelled.

"_William_," Piper said.

My father moved before I could say anything. He had Will suspended in the air, holding him by the neck in three split seconds. Piper screamed, and I stepped forward. My father might bully me, but that didn't give him the right to intimidate Will- or his mom.

"Stop it!" I said.

My father released Will, who fell to the floor, gasping like his mother. My father leaned in, and, softly but not so quietly that I couldn't hear it, spoke.

"Think again before you challenge me, boy."

My father straightened, and walked over to me. He slapped me across the face, and I winced. I could feel a welt developing- nothing new, it just hurt. "Let's go, Marilyn. _Now_," my father said, his voice dripping with anger. He stood, eyes moving around the room. "Anyone else want to confront me? Anyone?"

There was a suffocating silence.

"Good," my father said, an undercurrent of satisfaction in his voice. "Goodbye, Piper."

He walked out of the room, pulling me with him, and I thought I heard Will's voice.

"Who was that man?" Will asked quietly.

"That," Piper said, her voice quavering, "was Percy Jackson."

* * *

REESE'S POV

**Ow. **

Everything hurt as I blinked open my eyes groggily. My vision blurred, and I rubbed the grit from my eyes, clearing it a bit. I realized that I was lying down in my room. The soft lavender blankets and walls lulled me to sleep once more, but I sat up. There was work to do, and nothing was being accomplished by simply sitting here.

Mom had left some time back, and I had fallen into my pillow, burying my face in the soft, cushy goose feathers. I sniffed the air and detected the scent of chicken noodle soup, and I inhaled deeply. My head was spinning, and the idea of food was incredibly enticing.

I swung my legs over the rim of my bed, letting them hover an inch above the plush carpet. Birds chirped outside, and a brisk breeze drifted through my open window. I shivered, realizing I was in a t-shirt and shorts. I stood, ignoring the tilting room. The vertigo passed, and I rose, ready to eat.

I tiptoed down my stairs, and the smell got stronger. I finally entered my kitchen, where Mom was cooking something in a pot over the stove. She smiled at me, releasing the temporary stress lining her face.

"Hey, honey," Mom said, smoothing my hair. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," I said. I thought back to our earlier conversation. There were so many questions that I wanted to ask; though I wasn't positive I wanted answers. "Um- so." I cleared my throat.

Mom sighed. "Explanations. I suppose it wouldn't do any good to tell you that everything would be explained in time?"

I stared at her incredulously.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said, grabbing a ladle from the drawers. She spooned some soup into a bowl, and I looked outside our windows. It was a beautiful day- the sun shone high in the sky, illuminating our entire kitchen. A bit frisk, but then again, it was March.

Mom handed me the bowl as the microwave beeped. She swung open the stainless steel door, admitting a cup of tea. The air was suddenly heavy with the calming scent of chamomile, and she handed the mug and a spoon to me.

I took a sip of the hot meal, relishing the taste on my tongue. Mom sat beside me, and pursed her lips as if thinking pensively. I waited a moment, and then spoke. "So- this whole 'equilibrium' thing- care to explain?" I began.

Mom pinched the bridge of her nose. "I suppose you're right. There are just so many things that I've never told you- or your father, really. As far as I know, Jamie's been spared from the gift. I've always suspected you, but now I'm sure."

"Mom?" I said slowly. She wasn't making a lick of sense.

"What do you know about the old Greek myths?" Mom asked suddenly. "The old heroes? Gods? Monsters?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Um- some of it. Like, I know who Zeus is, and Hercules, and stuff, but not much else. Marilyn knows- she's more into that kind of stuff."

Mom bit her bottom lip. "Alright. I need to start from the beginning, then." She rubbed a hand over her face. "Name as many gods as you can for me."

I blinked. "Um- okay." I thought back to Mr. Little's class. Never know when your maternal parent can go psycho and give you a pop quiz during lunch. "Uh- Zeus, Hades, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Apollo, Ares- and that's it. That's all I can remember," I said, feeling a bit foolish. Marilyn would have been able to name all of the major deities and then some.

Mom smiled. "That's okay. The rest are Hermes, Hephaestus, Hera, Demeter, Dionysus and Artemis- as far as the twelve major Olympians go, at least. I didn't know all of them either, when I was your age." She massaged her temples. "What do you know about Apollo in particular?"

I shrugged. "Well- I guess he's the god of the sun, right? And music."

"Good. He's a god of many things- what else do you know?" Mom asked. She stood and got herself a cup of water from the sink, plinking in a few ice cubes from our freezer.

"Uh- poetry, maybe? Is he the guy with the stick thingy and the snakes?"

Mom laughed and shook her head. "No, that's Hermes. Close, though. They have their similarities. Poetry is correct, though. Anything else you can remember?"

I shook my head. "No, sorry."

Mom nodded to herself. "Okay, then. Well, to sum it up: Apollo is the god of the arts. He's almost like one of the nine muses, though he also controls the sun. He has a twin sister, Artemis, who is goddess of the hunt and the moon, as well as virginity, I think. The twins are descended from Leto and Zeus, the head god of Olympus. That's his heritage, as far as I know. Most important to us, Apollo is god of one more thing: prophecy."

"Prophecy? What on Earth does this have to do with-"I started, until realizing something. "The words. They were a prophecy, weren't they?"

"Yes."

"Hold up- are you saying that Apollo is _real_?" I asked disbelievingly.

"Oh, no, Reese. I'm saying that all of the gods are very real. All of the minor gods and goddesses, in fact. That is including monsters, and the evil spirits, as well." Mom's tone had taken an ominous undercurrent, and I shivered.

"You're crazy," I said. "That's not possible."

"Yes, it is. How else would you like me to explain your prophecy? Reese, you have the gift of an oracle. Trust me, I should know," Mom said.

"It's- some freak thing. Or something. It's not a prophecy, Mom, that's insane!" I said, my voice rising in hysterics.

"Really? 'The equilibrium will be broken. The ocean walks with us once more. The shadow of a lover becomes a warrior. Lightning and love converge. The equilibrium falls.' Reese Winters, if this wasn't the truth, how would I know that?" Mom asked, her voice shaking.

I stared at her. "How do you know those words?" I whispered.

"I know them because I spoke them first. Reese, you have the gift of an oracle because _I am one_," Mom said, her face beginning to once more show lines of anxiety. "I left the life because I fell in love with your father. My virginity was originally sworn to Apollo, but I gave it to your father. I had you."

"Mom, what are you saying here?"

"I'm saying that you are the next oracle, Reese Veronica Winters. My maiden name was Rachel Elizabeth Dare."

* * *

WILL'S POV

**My mother glared at me.**

She was starting to make me uncomfortable. I slunk down further in the padded seats in our Porsche, feeling the leather under my fingertips. Piper wasn't glaring at me, exactly, more at the road. She looked angry in general, I supposed, and if there was one thing I had learned in my thirteen years old, it was to beware of thine mother.

"Damn it," she growled, slapping her sun visor down.

Oh, no. I was dead if Piper was going to be in that mood. I cleared my throat, deciding to take a chance. "Uh- are you okay, Mom?"

"No. Nope, I'm not." She slammed a fist down on her wheel, and it blared loudly. "Move it, asshole!" she yelled to the car in front of us.

My mother almost never swore, and she was seriously starting to scare me. I swallowed. "Um- what happened?"

"It's stupid Percy Jackson! I cannot _believe _he had the nerve to do that to me! Oh, shit!" Piper shouted as she swerved the car.

"Careful, Mom," I warned. "And I thought you were okay, what with the whole 'Oh, no police, I'm cool.'"

"That was because I was protecting his damn daughter!" Piper spat. "Gods, Annabeth would _kill _us if she saw us right now."

"Who's Annabeth?" I asked.

"Aw, shit! Come on, you dumbasses, learn how to drive, for gods' sakes!" Piper shouted, honking her horn again. I inched away. I had never seen my mother this furious in my entire life. "Annabeth was a woman who died a long time ago."

It dawned on me, then. The puzzle pieces began to construct in my mind. "Hold up- Annabeth was Marilyn's mom, wasn't she?"

"You don't miss much, do you?" Piper muttered. "I wish you would pay this much attention in school."

"So is that a yes?"

Piper sighed. "Yes. Annabeth was Marilyn's mother, and Percy's wife, a long time ago."

"What happened to her?" I queried, thinking of all the ugly ways that Annabeth could've died.

"She died," Piper said shortly.

As I realized Piper wasn't about to say anything else, I let out a whine. "Aw, c'mon! I want to know how! Please?"

"Look, Will, I love you, and all, but it's not really my place to be telling you all this. You shouldn't know as much as you do right now. You're also in very big trouble," Piper said, fixating her glower once more on me.

"You can't hold that over me _now_! How do you even know Percy and Annabeth, anyway?" I asked.

"What part of 'I'm going to wait until your father gets home', 'it's not really my place to be telling you this' and 'you are in serious trouble and should be praying for your _life_' do you not understand?" Piper snapped.

"All of it," I supplied.

"Attitude, William Grace. You are mentally adding on weeks with all of this smart-mouthing." Piper got a glint in her eye. "Actually, I think talking to your father right around _now _would be a great idea."

"_What_?" I yelped. "Now, let's not be hasty…"

It was one thing having Piper mad at me. I mean, sure, she was scary, but really only around a specific time of the month, if you know what I'm saying there. She was terrifying and everything, but it's really hard to take the same woman who packed my lunch in first grade with little notes on the napkins (thank _gods _I stopped that fiasco).

Jason, however, is an entirely different matter. He is terrifying. Not really in the way Percy Jackson was- he wasn't hardened in the same way; he had a different look in his eyes. Seriously, though, my father could kick some serious ass, and that included his children's. When Caroline stayed out after curfew a couple of months ago and got into some trouble (I never found out exactly what, though I have my suspicions), Carrie got her ass handed to her. She was grounded for a month with extra chores and no allowance for a pretty long time, and wasn't allowed to go out still, I think; I've lost track. I'd hate to find out what he'd do to me. I gulped.

"Oh, this decision has been thought over thoroughly, I assure you," Piper said with a small smile. She yanked out her iPhone and tapped a few buttons. Before I could protest further, she handed me the phone. My mother is evil. Pure, unadulterated evil.

The phone rang, and I began to formulate a plan in my mind. Slowly but surely, I saw a possible delay to this dilemma. Oh, Mummy dearest, looks as if the evilness is genetic. There was a crackle, and then my father's voice saying "Hello?"

"Hey, Dad," I greeted, grinning. Piper looked puzzled, and I just smiled. Oh, Mother, dear. You have no idea the extent of my evilness.

"William? Shouldn't you be in school?" Jason asked.

"Yeah, but there was a minor issue. Nothing big, just a minor little thing. Not even worth mentioning, actually- a tiny, miniscule little detail, just an itsy-bitsy-"

"William, shut up and tell me what's wrong," Jason said, his voice tinged with annoyance.

"Oh, that. Yeah, Mom and I just had a little run-in with Percy Jackson," I said, a smile playing at the corner of my lips. Piper turned to me, her eyes wide. I was dead- but then again, I was dead anyway, so that was fine.

There was a lengthy pause, and then Jason's voice. "Say that again?" my father said.

"Oh, yeah. Percy Jackson. He threatened my life and pinned both Mom and I up in a chokehold, but Mom thinks that it's no biggie, so I'm taking that for what it is. Oh, and we saw his daughter. Fun, right?" I relayed, grinning.

"William Grace!" Piper said, her eyes wide. "Stop it right this instant!"

"What's that, Dad?" I asked. "You want to talk to Pi- Mom? Oh, cool. Here she is," I said, ignoring my parents' protests about me. You can say it. I'm a horrible, devious child. A horrible devious child who wanted to live to see tomorrow, though, may I remind you.

I felt something sink in my heart. If I was worried, I wondered what Marilyn was going through. Her dad was something else, that was for sure, and I felt bad about my previous outburst. It really sucks to be afraid of your only living parent, and I pretty much told her that she was being a wimp. I looked over and saw a faint bruise on my mother's neck.

Perhaps Mari was a bit more justified than I had given her credit for after all.

"No, Jason, I'm perfectly fine," Piper said over the chorus of yelling emanating from the phone. Piper shot daggers at me. "Percy didn't really do anything-"

Another shouting spell came from the phone, and Piper held it at arm's length. "Oh, William Grace, you are so dead when your father finds out."

"Yes. But right now, it seems that Percy Jackson is in bigger trouble than me, for the time being," I said.

"Your father is not going to attack Percy," Piper said with a wince. "The fight could go either way. He wouldn't risk dying for your sake."

"What's the big deal with this dick?" I asked. "Dad's the most powerful demigod I know. Why is Percy so special?"

"He's the son of Poseidon," Piper said.

"So? Aunt Thalia isn't as powerful as Dad. Neither is Nico, or Aunt Hazel. They're all children of the big three," I said, crossing my arms.

Jason continued shouting, and Piper leaned in towards me. "Listen to me very carefully when I say this. Do not _ever _underestimate Perseus Jackson. If you do so, like so many others, that will be the end of you. Do you understand?"

I nodded wordlessly.

"Good. We are clear?" Piper asked.

"Crystal," I told her, my voice cracking.

Piper paused, and then put the phone back up by her ear. She resumed talking while I looked out the windows of our car. Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase. Two names that I never heard of before. It was obvious that I wasn't going to get any more answers from my mother. I wrung my hands, thinking of different people I could ask that would tell me.

A light bulb appeared over my head.

Caroline.

Of course.

* * *

CAROLINE'S POV

**I laid on my bed.**

Gazing up at the ceiling, I quirked a little smile as I remembered hearing about Will's spectacle after I got home. Mom had been beyond furious- I couldn't remember ever seeing her that angry. It came as no surprise to me that she was still beautiful, even in her outraged state.

I bit my lip. Now that I was fifteen, things seemed more transparent than they used to. I saw right through some of the façades that my parents put up for our sakes. There are things that I noticed now- the good and the bad. The good included things like how much my parents truly loved each other, and the bad included things like how stressed my parents always were. The work was starting to get to them, and I wasn't sure that as kids, we were doing the best job of making it easy. Especially Reid- it was hard when kids were young.

More than anything, I wished Dad was home. I was the first child, and the definition of Daddy's little girl. I was more of a tomboy than my brother, actually, who is kind of a sissy. As a result, I saw the first baseball games (I had a ball that I had caught on my dresser), tried out for every sport under the moon, and shopped at Dick's as opposed to Abercrombie. I was closer with him than I had ever been with Mom.

My dad never really had time, though. He worked hard, and somewhere in my heart, I knew that- but it didn't stop me from banging my head against the wall every time we moved just so he could work _more_. It was so hard on everyone in our family, especially Mom, who, at this point, with the circles under her eyes, looked like she could use three more nannies. I was infinitely grateful that my mom did all that she did- shoot, she didn't have to come to half the games or events that she did.

At the same time, I wished that she took a break every once in a while.

A knock sounded on my door, and I sat up. "Hello?" I called.

Well, what do you know? It's the exiled one, also known as my brother. "Hey," Will said, his eyes skittish. My brother, skittish? Oh, please. He probably came to weasel some candy out of me.

"Aren't you supposed to be in your room?" I asked, swinging my legs over the bed. "What with the whole 'I was a doofus and beat somebody up'?"

Will made a face. "Look- I just had some questions I wanted to ask you. Then I'll leave, I swear."

I arched an eyebrow. "Will, if this is another half-schemed plot to steal my chocolate bars-"

"It's not," Will said quickly. "Just- I really did have some questions. I want answers, and Mom's not giving them to me."

I regarded him cryptically. If Mom wasn't about to reply to his queries, then I saw no reason to, but at the same time, this looked legitimate. If it had anything to do with the things going through his head lately; what with the punching walls, sadist bitches, and fights at school- I was inclined to listen.

I gestured to the chair. "Sit," I said with a sigh.

"Thanks," Will said, clearly relieved.

I waited for him to ask, and finally rolled my eyes in exasperation. "Well, dimwit? You have any interrogations or not?"

"Oh- yeah." Will cleared his throat. "So- I kind of wanted to ask about a couple of people."

"Names," I reminded him. Gods, my brother was thick.

"Uh- yeah. So. Have you ever heard anything about Percy Jackson or Annabeth Chase?" he asked, his eyes alight with curiosity.

Shit. That was why Mom wasn't answering his questions. I swallowed. "Hell, no," I said, finally just voicing my inner thoughts. "_Hell, no_."

"What?" Will exploded, standing up. "What is so important about this dick? He attacked Mom and me today!"

"Wait- Percy Jackson is _here_?" I said, my eyes wide. "That's not possible." Holy Hera. If that really was the case, then we were all in some deep shit.

"I kind of just saw him in the flesh, today, so yeah. It is possible. Remember Marilyn from the coffee shop? That's his daughter," Will said, still obviously angry.

"Holy shit," I said in wonder. "It's the prophecy."

"Will someone _please_ tell me what all this jibber-jabber is about and just get to the fricking point, please?" Will shouted.

I sighed. "I'm sorry, but I can't, Will. Just about anything except for this- I would, really. It's just not my place to tell you this."

"Goddammit, that's what Mom said too! What's the big secret?" Will yelled.

Gods. I took a deep breath, checking the door. "Look- I will tell you this one thing."

"Finally!" Will said, sitting back down with a thump. He waited for me, tapping his fingers on his knee. "Well?"

Oh, shit. I was in _so _much trouble if my parents ever found out what I was about to say. Here goes nothing, I supposed. "Fine. You know the Argo II, right? From the stories about Mom and Dad's demigod years?"

Will snorted. "Of course. They're famous for it. So is Uncle Leo, Aunt Hazel, and Uncle Frank."

"Well-" I swallowed nervously. "Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase were also members of the Argo II. The people at camp lie now when they said that five demigods were selected. There were seven."

Ho-ly shit. I was dead. Yup. _Dead_, I tell you.

"_What_?" Will whispered.

"Yes. Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase were on the Argo II." I closed my eyes. "And they were forgotten for a reason."

"What is that reason?" Will prodded.

"Nuh-uh. No way, Will. Get outta my room- I'm in enough trouble as it is," I said, pushing him out my door. "You heard me. Move it, kid."

"What?" Will whined pathetically.

"Out," I said, slamming the door in his face.

I leaned against the wall, sliding down it.

If what Will said was true, we were in _so _much trouble.


	10. Chapter 10: Suspensions and Surprises

A/N: Hey! I'm back! The chapter's a little shorter than the past few, but it still has a surprise! Read on! I'm pathetically excited about double digit chapters... oh, well. Still enthusiastic!

To Athenachild101: Congratulations on calling Rachel Dare! I would love to write all day long, but unfortunately there's school *scoffs*.

Here we go with chapter ten...

* * *

Chapter Ten

MARILYN'S POV

_I was in the forest._

_ With a shiver, I realized that the forest was not new. The trees were recognizable, somehow, a nagging insisted in the back of my brain. The ground's texture was familiar. I touched my split lip and winced. Looking up at the night sky, I marveled at the precise clarity of the stars. That was when I realized where I was._

_ At the edge of the forest, the very fringe. A dead campfire lay before me, and the sun was peeking over the horizon, bathing the fields in a warm, peach-colored light. I looked out to see a faint array of buildings, but I couldn't quite make them out._

_ I was in the dream once more._

_ I felt my lip with a wince. It was split; a result of my father's slap. Surprisingly enough, my father hadn't done anything other than the slap. He had just motioned for me to go to my room and said nothing, storming up to his bedroom. The tension had said more than enough._

_ I had fallen asleep, the dream pushed from every corner of my mind. Now I was back again, in the same place that I had started. I wondered with a shiver whether or not I made progress every time I traveled._

_ I looked down at my attire with a grimace. It was wet, and I was wearing only my Reebok spandex and tight-fitting black tank-top that I wore under my uniform. I touched the base of my throat. And my necklace, I realized. _

_ My feet were bare, though it didn't hurt to step from the cover of the woods. The grass was moist and dewy, and judging by the light of the day, it couldn't have been past five o' clock in the morning. Birds chirped around me, and I took a deep breath. The scent was of- strawberries. Sweet, red, ripe strawberries. I fell in love right then and there._

_ I shuddered. Despite the whole 'I am in a dream' thing, I was still freezing. The wind blew my curls around, tossing them about my face. I really wished I had a blanket. Something soft, like at Reese's house. Her mom bought the best blankets- soft, plush things._

_ I fingered my necklace. That was quickly becoming a habit with me, and for some reason, I found it oddly soothing. The cold metal brought a chill down my spine, and I shuddered. My eyes drifted over the scene lying before me: a mess of cabin-like looking places, designed with Greek architecture, and a large, blue house. To the right, there was a mass of berry fields, and in the distance, there seemed to be more buildings- though they looked to be open-faced. One almost looked to be a Coliseum._

_ Oh, God. I really needed to pay less attention in world History class. It was starting to intrude on my subconscious. I had enough problems as it was; my brain needed no encouragement._

_ The cold wind reminded me briskly that this was no time to be contemplating my embarrassing valedictorian habits. I shrugged. If this was a dream, then I might as well explore. _

_ I walked on. The place was eerily silent, making me quiver in anticipation. I felt like something bad was going to happen. No, actually, I _knew _something bad was going to happen. It scared me, and I was ready to go back to the real world once more. _

_ There was the creak of a door, and a girl stepped out from a cute little cabin-like structure. It looked like Barbie's dream house, with pretty lace trimmings and polka dots. A gag reflex rose as I smelled the amount of perfume that she was wearing._

_ The girl had her back turned to me, and I was stunned by how beautiful she was, even from the back. She was stick-thin, with long, black, shimmery hair braided down her back. She stopped._

_ "Who's there?" she called, turning around. I saw her clothes- dark, tight jeans, designer flats, and an orange t-shirt that read _Camp Half-Blood_._

_ I held up a hand. "Hey. It's just me, don't worry."_

_ She shrieked. "Who are you?"_

_ "Uh- Marilyn," I said._

_ The girl scrambled backwards. "What are you doing here? What are you?"_

_ "Um- I'm in a dream, and as far as I know, I'm human," I answered. Boy, was this a weird dream._

_ The girl screamed, a high-pitched wail, and several cabins opened their doors. A boy exited from a flowery-looking structure. "Oh my gods, Lila, what is the matter?" he demanded, looking sleepy and very angry._

_ Lila pointed to me, her hand shaking. I waved tentatively as an audible gasp went around the camp._

_ "Someone had better get Chiron," another boy said quietly._

_ Then my vision blacked out._

**I woke, gasping.**

Lila. I pictured her face clearly: blue eyes, dark, wavy black hair, porcelain complexion. All in all, she was extraordinarily beautiful- but all of the kids there at the camp had been. They all looked like supermodels, wearing the same t-shirt. I pursed my lips, looking over at my Mac, resting lifeless on my desk.

I pressed the on button. I wondered if this whole Camp Half-Blood was a legitimate place. This was the third time that I had experienced this dream, after all. The least I could do was open a Google page.

As I opened the search browser, my fingers hesitated over the keyboard. Swallowing my fear, I typed **DREAM INTERPRETATION**. I watched the little circle spin, and then opened the first tab.

It read-

**Hello, dreamers! Ready to figure out what's inside your head? A lot of dreams come from real life THINGS that you do every single day! Type into the search bar to find out what YOUR dream means!**

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Nevertheless, pursuer that I was, I clicked on the search bar. After I hesitated, I typed in **CENTAUR**. I waited for it to load, and as soon as it came up, my jaw dropped. I was- stunned.

**Wow! Dreaming of centaurs, are we? **

** This says that you are infatuated with horses. You are deeply in love with a horse: start planning your wedding! Centaurs are sexy! Don't be afraid to challenge the status quo- come out of the closet! You love horses!**

_Jesus Christ._

I stifled a giggle and tried something else. I typed in **DRAGON **and decided to see what that said. Needless to say, I wasn't disappointed.

**Ooh, dragons! Nice dream!**

** Dreaming of dragons shows that you are a sexy prostitute who fears of going to the underworld. To fix your fearsome dreams, you must become more chaste and behaved! Don't go running all over town, slow down!**

I laughed out loud. So far, I was a 'sexy prostitute' who was 'deeply in love with a horse'. I wondered what Ms. Clark would make of _that_. I bit my lip, and then tried **FLEECE. **I snickered at what came up.

**Fleeces, huh?**

** This means that you are embarrassed by your wardrobe and need a whole new look! You want to look fresh, sexy, and half your age, and your current styles just aren't helping! Go get a new look!**

Oh, my God. This was beyond fun, if nothing else. Apparently, my style was that of a six-year old. Oh, dear Lord. I chuckled as I thought of what else to type in- I finally finished on **FOREST**.

**Ooh… forest!**

** This means that you are bored with your daily life and are looking for some pleasure in your life. You have been so distressed thinking about THIS kind of pleasure that you are contemplating where to do it in your sleep! Don't go cold chicken! Put yourself out there!**

That was it.

I rolled around on the floor, cracking up. So, according to this website, I was a sexy prostitute fearing hell who was in love with a horse. I was distressed by my wardrobe and life, so I daydreamed of having 'pleasure' in a forest. I laughed.

"Marilyn, will you _shut up_?"

I looked up, the sniggering already gone as I saw my father's furious face. Another giggle bubbled up in my throat, but I closed my mouth. I was in love with a horse, after all. The least I could do was show my maturity for Pinkie Pie.

I tried. Really, I did.

I howled.

"Marilyn! It is five o' clock in the morning! What the hell are you doing, laughing for no reason?" my father snapped, his green eyes bright and fierce.

"N- nothing," I gasped. "It's just- Pinkie Pie's in love with me, you know." Oh, my God. I was insane. Contemplating love affairs with My Little Pony. Jesus Christ.

My father did a double take. "Excuse me?"

"P-pinkie P-pie," I said, still laughing my head off. "We're in a dramatic love affair."

My father blinked. "Are you sleepwalking?"

"No," I said, still tittering like a maniac. "I'm just destined to be with Pinkie Pie!"

My father stared at me blankly. "Marilyn, what the _hell _are you talking about?"

"Love!" I yelled, laughing hysterically. "I can't hide it anymore! I'm- in love- with Pinkie Pie!"

Oh, God. I had gone and done it now. It's just- I was in love with Pinkie Pie. Just thinking it made me collapse into little chuckles. I was destined to be with a My Little Pony. I wondered what Reese would have to say to that.

My father opened his mouth and closed it like a fish. "Marilyn, you're either drunk or sleepwalking. Please tell me that you're not insane."

I stopped finally, my chest heaving. "No- I checked my dream interpretation. Apparently, if you're dreaming of centaurs that means you are 'deeply in love with a horse'."

He frowned. "What did you say you were dreaming of?"

"Centaurs. I think I'm just paying far too much attention in history, but, you know, infatuation with horses works as well," I said, my voice light.

My father paled. "Centaurs."

I nodded. "Uh- yeah."

"Describe your dream for me very carefully," he said, eyes wide.

"Well, according to this website, I'm a sexy prostitute-"

"Gods, Marilyn. Not the shitty dream site's interpretation. Your original dream," my father insisted, rolling his eyes dramatically.

"What if I say I was a sexy prostitute in the original dream?" I asked.

My father considered me. "Honestly? Then I think you shouldn't be given any more chocolate. Now speak, child."

I gasped in horror. "No more _chocolate_?" I said in horror, only half-kidding.

"Get to the point!" he barked.

"Answer my question! Chocolate is a big deal, Dad!" I said, and then clapped a hand over my mouth. Shit. I had called him Dad. He was my father, not Dad.

My father made a face. "Gods, you're stubborn."

"Yes, and we all know where _that _genetic trait came from," I said, looking at him pointedly.

He shook his head. "It doesn't, actually. Now tell me the damn dream, and fast, or I swear to gods, I _will _deprive you of chocolate!"

"Threatening isn't the way to make something happen," I said, making the universal tsk-tsk sign.

"Oh, my gods! Tell me the damn dream!" he shouted, shaking his hands.

"Why do you even care?" I challenged. For some reason, I wasn't ready to admit my insanity. At least my father hadn't noticed my dirty legs yet. "Your head is always stuck in your work. It's like… your brain is full of kelp. Like a seaweed brain."

My father froze. "_What _did you just say?"

"I said you were a seaweed brain. Sorry," I said with a wince.

"Don't be," he said finally, his voice thin and weak-sounding. "No one's called me that in a very long time."

It was as if a chill passed through the room. "My mom called you that, didn't she?"

My father closed his eyes. "Yes. It was a- joke, of sorts."

I curled up into a little ball. "Tell me about her. Please."

He hesitated, and then sighed. "Annabeth. That was her name."

My father walked out of the room, making me feel hollow. Her name had been Annabeth. Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth. My mom. I swallowed. The words were so foreign to me: mom. Mom. Annabeth.

I realized something.

I had never told him about my dream.

I shrugged, climbing back into bed. No sleep for me- I wasn't sure I wanted to go back into that dream. I would just- stay there. Lie for a while. I was suspended, after all. This day was going to suck anyway.

Annabeth.

REESE'S POV

**My head ached.**

I walked into first bell pissed off. First, Marilyn had ditched me. I _knew _she had ditched me because she always went to school. It was like a temple, or some sort of refuge to her. It was when she admitted the fact after she threw up halfway through the night and went to school anyway that I had told her I lost my ability to understand her.

I was still angry with her for stealing Will, but in light of everything that Mom had told me, I felt that normal people problems were insignificant. Mom had given me a crash course in the genetics of demigods- apparently, no mentionable ones in the last two centuries. We really sucked nowadays, I supposed.

Not we, _them_, I reminded myself. Nevertheless- it was cool to have something that Marilyn Monroe didn't have. _She _wasn't an all-powerful half-oracle or demigod. It was a comforting thought, and I hugged my shoulders against the drafty classroom.

I frowned as I surveyed the scene around me. People were chatting everywhere, their books abandoned at my desk. At my very absent desk. Both Will and Lynnie were missing. I rolled my eyes. Probably getting some Starbucks again.

I am an oracle. Marilyn is not. I am special. She is not.

Though I felt guilty for thinking it, I was glad to have something that she, for once in my life, didn't have. For once, I was special, just like the perfect, prissy, stick-a-pole-up-my-ass Marilyn Monroe. She wasn't perfect- her personality could use some serious adjustment sometimes- but she was way too close not to be jealous.

"Please, get in your seats, class," Bridge said, smiling with her yellow, scraggly teeth. Ugh. Disgusting, that woman. As her students obeyed, she scribbled something on a piece of paper without looking up. "Anyone absent?"

"Uh- Marilyn and Will!" a kid called out.

Snickers ran through the class. I leaned over to Margaret Waters, who sat next to me. She had her brown curly hair buried in her phone, and I tapped her shoulders. "What?" Margaret snapped.

"Uh- why aren't Marilyn and Will here?" I asked, feeling very left out.

Margaret smirked. "Oh, that's right. You weren't here for their fight yesterday. They're suspended until Monday- so just one day. Seriously, though. We had school canceled yesterday, the fight was so epic. They destroyed _equipment_. Not that Will couldn't handle the pay… his family is loaded."

"Suspended?" I asked incredulously. "Marilyn Jackson, suspended?"

Margaret giggled. "I know. Who woulda thought that bitchy know-it-all coulda got suspended? It's like, amazing."

"Piss off," I muttered. Margaret raised her eyebrows.

"I see the bitchiness's rubbed off. Careful, Reese. That was, like, mean."

Oh, Jesus Christ. I mean- gods. This new lingo was going to get some getting used to. Apparently, 'Holy Hera' and 'Zeus Almighty' were some of the lingo- but there was no way that I was going to say those in public. I was already seen as a freaky enough. No need to worship dead religions out in public.

"Yes, yes, I know that. Anyone else?" Bridge demanded, sounding pissed.

"Me!" another kid yelled out. "I an't heah!" The Bostonian accent was ridiculously heavy, and I winced.

Five, four, three, two…

"Grammar, Daniels. Attitude as well, please."

Ah, the grammar corrections. By age thirteen, I can predict when they happen. A sad but true fact in the life of Reese Veronica Winters.

"Alright. Now that we've established the wonderful fact that this generation has yet to acquire good behavior, I'd like to speak to this class about PAM testing," Bridge said.

A chorus of groans ran throughout the class, including myself. Leave it to me to find out that the world has changed completely in _everything_- religion, food, family, friends- and come back to school for PAM testing, the pinnacle of evilness. Leave it to me.

"Aw, shit," Margaret said beside me. Gods, that girl had a mouth on her. It was almost as bad as Marilyn and I.

"Language, Wallaby," Bridge warned.

I snickered into my palm as Margaret threw her hands up in frustration. I loved this class- especially Mrs. Bridge and her name aliases. Only Bridge could confuse Waters with Wallaby. She wasn't hard of hearing (proved by the fact that she caught 'shit'); her memory just sucked.

"Anyhow," Bridge continued, shuffling some papers on her podium up at the front of the room, "I'd like to discuss the PAM testing. As you know, you will be tested on Math, Science, World History, Language Arts, and Art History. There are those of you who will do very well-"

Someone coughed "_Jackson_!" into their arm.

"And those of you who will do very poorly."

In other words, the oracle sidekick of Marilyn Jackson, suspended friend. Oh, I was so going to call her. That woman had it coming for her. I pursed my lips, and carefully brought my phone out of my UGG. There was no reason to delay.

**hey, slacker. :/**

It wasn't long before I got a reply.

_hay is for horses. btw- did u no that pinkie pie + i had a love affair? 'cuz we DID! :)_

What the hell?

**wtf?**

My phone vibrated softly as Bridge continued to drone on.

_o. so, ive been having SUPER weird dreams lately… so i checked a dream interpretation site and it said that if i dreamt of centaurs that meant i was in love with a horse. basically, the whole thing translated to: u are a sexy prostitute who is afraid of going to hell. u daydream about 'pleasures' (their words, not mine) in the woods with horses. so, the relationship with pinkie pie. _

Um.

**…**

She replied quickly.

_jerk! that took me forever to type, and u responded with a '…'. u no, im not sure why ur surprised. my sexy prostitute side is really showing its true colors._

Holy Hera. Hey, I was actually getting the hang of this whole 'Greek gods lingo' thing.

**jesus christ. im just going 2 ignore that 4 the sake of my sanity. btw- wats with the whole 'ditching my friend because i got SUSPENDED'? wth?**

She responded fast, and my phone buzzed a little loud. Margaret shot me a suspicious glance, but otherwise, no one seemed to notice.

_not going 2 discuss that 1. txt will if u want 2 no- but im not talking to him. long story. hey- rn't u supposed 2 be in class?_

Well, yes, technically. I looked at Bridge droning on. Marilyn was a human encyclopedia. I was pretty sure that I was going to learn more texting her than listening to Bridge ramble on about PAM testing. Half of the kids in the class were twirling strawberry gum around their fingers, sleeping, or texting like me. It was straight out of Ferris Bueller's Day Off.

**uh… yea. hay is 4 horses! **

**ther calling ur name.**

**…bueller…bueller…bueller...**

I cracked up. Oh, my own wit amused even myself at times. Margaret shot another look at me, and I quieted down. At least I wasn't talking about love affairs with Pinkie Pie. I still didn't fully understand that one. My phone vibrated.

_haha, very funny, reese. btw- i found out my moms name._

She what now? And didn't tell me? Oh, that bitch.

**TELL ME NOW OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES.**

I was only half-joking about that one. I had to listen to her rants all day; I could handle her mother's name.

_o, i dunno…_

Bitch.

**IM SERIOUS MARILYN ELISE JACKSON. TELL ME NOW OR RISK DEATH BY HAND OF CRAZY REDHEAD.**

That should do it, I think. Another message popped up.

_o, fine. her name was Annabeth._

Annabeth. That was a really pretty name, actually. I wondered if Annabeth looked anything like Marilyn. If that was the case, then I could see why Percy fell in love with her. Both father and daughter looked like they came from the cover of _Vogue _magazine.

**omg thats a pretty name lyn! hav u googled her yet?**

My phone vibrated really loud this time, getting glances from a few other kids. Bridge looked over at me, raising an eyebrow, and I vowed to be more careful.

_uh… i dunno her maiden name._

Oh, girl. That was what Google was for!

I began to type, only to have the phone snatched from my hand. I looked up at Bridge guiltily. She smirked.

"Let's see what this reads," she said, marching up to the front of the room. She smiled a smug, prissy grin, and I grimaced. "Ahem. It says: 'If you can find time to browse the internet for dream interpretation sites describing you as a sexy prostitute afraid of the underworld- not to mention the sex fantasies about horses in a forest… you can Google Annabeth?'

Oh, gods. This was not happening.

The class erupted into laughter, as Mrs. Bridge looked quite scandalized. "Miss Winters, what is this?"

Nora, come on. Can't you proofread? This is a Catholic school. You shouldn't be reading things about horse 'pleasure' fantasies out loud.

I buried my head in my hands.

WILL'S POV

**I flopped down on my bed.**

I had managed to sneak my laptop from earlier, and at present, I had been hiding out in my room _all freaking day_. I was going literally stir crazy. I loved _Napoleon Dynamite_; that movie was amazing- just the attitudes in it made me laugh out loud. After watching it eight times straight, though, it kind of made me want to punch the wall. Again. I had already tried to Google Percy Jackson a bunch of times, and I had gotten some information. He was a famous marine biologist slash marine doctor (surprise, surprise) who was widowed with one kid. There was nothing that I didn't already know there.

I then tried to Google Annabeth Chase, but all I got out of that was she was the late daughter of Professor Frederick Chase, famous architect- she constructed a lot of pretty amazing buildings- and dead wife of Percy Jackson. It said nothing that hinted 'quest' or 'demigod' anywhere. It was as if they were both mortal.

I groaned as there was a knock on my door. I paused Pedro mid-speech. "You're interrupting Pedro, Mom!"

Piper sighed as she sat down at the foot of my bed. "You are in serious trouble, you know. I think Pedro can wait."

"But- but- he's _Pedro_!" I exclaimed, pointing to the little Mexican man on the screen. "He's got skills! He's got a mustache! He's got-"

"To get you to shut up," Piper said. She checked her watch with a heave. "I've got parent-teacher conferences tonight. I'm a bit afraid for yours. For now, though, I've got to go to a doctor's appointment. You had better behave- Quinn's watching."

I scoffed. "I am the master of escaping! I could escape under even the Warden Piper's watch!"

"Where did I go wrong?" Piper asked the ceiling. "I followed all those dumb books, I tried to give him a good upbringing. What did I do to deserve this?"

"You gave me no answers! I am a deprived man, Mother! A _deprived man_!" I shouted.

Piper looked at me like I was crazy. "Will, do you need your insanity medication?"

"No. What I need is to get out of this house before I go insane!" I said vehemently.

"Oh, my gods. I'll tell you what's wrong with that sentence. A: you are in serious trouble and _suspended from school_. B: you are already insane, Will. C: I am your mother and you should always do as I say. D: please refer to A because you made an innocent girl get a suspension!"

Oh, please. She was anything but innocent. Marilyn was probably having fantasies in her head right now. "Gods. She started it, just for the record," I muttered.

"What did you do to provoke her?" Piper said, hands on her hips.

"Is that really important?"

"Yes, William Grace, it is important," Piper told him.

I shifted uncomfortably. "I- may have said a few- misunderstanding things about her family situation. May have. Theoretically. Hypothetically. Made up, of course."

Piper stared at me. "You did _not_."

"Uh- yeah. I did. Sorry," I said lamely.

"Will- that's just- apologize. Immediately." Piper looked like she had just been kicked in the stomach. Violently.

"Yeah. I know. I thought she was being a drama queen." I scratched the back of my neck.

Piper stared at me for a long moment, and then rubbed her face. "You just really don't understand the feeling of no one caring for you when you're growing up. I'm sure that Sally and Paul were there for Marilyn some of the time, but not all of it. To a certain extent- I understand that. You just can't comment on things you really have no idea about."

I stared at a water bottle on my table. The discussion felt heavy, and I read the script with some difficulty- it looked like Evart Springs.

Then, shamefully, I started laughing.

"That's not funny, Will!" Piper said, her eyes wide.

"It's not that," I said between bouts of laughter. "It's just- between everything. The move, Marilyn, Percy Jackson, dead wives… and it's just Evart Springs!"

Piper finally reached out to gently pat me on the top of my head. "There… there. My son who has finally cracked."

I hugged my mom, smelling her perfume. She smelled of fresh linens, and I gripped her tightly. She laughed. "I mean it, Will. You are in so much trouble."

"Yeah, I know," I said, pulling away. "But you're still my mom."

"Keep trying," she said with a smirk.

Dammit. I should have known better than to butter her up.

"Go away," I said flatly, and my mom kissed the top of my head.

"Bye, Will. Oh- and by the way?"

"What?" I said.

"I told your father," Piper told me with a thin-lipped smile.

"_What_?"

Piper left, giggling.

She thinks she's _so _funny.

PIPER'S POV

**I sat in the chair.**

The faint hum and beeping of machines could be heard throughout the doctor's office, and the smell of antiseptic was pungent in my nose. I leaned back in the plastic chair in the waiting room, looking at the walls of brochures. I smiled when I saw one for pregnancy. I remembered those days.

For my part, I thought that these visits were kind of pointless. They consisted of a doctor checking my heartbeat, pulse, and cholesterol levels, as well as my weight. I could get more out of a Wii Fit game. There was also the peeing in the cup- as fun as that was, I think I could go without it as well.

The door creaked open, showing evidence that the rusty hinges needed oiling. The doctor walked in with a laptop, grinning in his white coat. "Good morning, Mrs. Grace," he greeted.

"Good morning, Doctor- Arnold?" I said, peering around to read his name tag.

The doctor laughed. "Close. Doctor Andrews, actually."

"Sorry," I said, a blush creeping into my cheeks.

"That's alright," he said, waving off my apology. He began to strip some latex gloves onto his fingers. "So, how are you feeling today?"

"Uh- great," I lied.

Dr. Andrews chuckled. "You don't sound all that great," he remarked, opening his laptop. The start screen of Windows seven opened up.

"Just kids." I looked around to the screen, which now had an Internet Explorer tab open.

"I know the feeling," he said dryly. "Ah! Here we are- you seem to be healthy, for the most part. Oh!"

"Hmm?" I said, a worried feeling settling in my chest. "For the most part?"

Dr. Andrews leaned back, a huge smile on his face. "Oh, yes. Your stress levels seem to be a bit higher than they should."

I wasn't particularly sure I liked this doctor. He laughed at my pain. "Uh- thanks?"

"Those kids stressing you out?" Dr. Andrews prompted, his dimple widening. He was starting to somewhat resemble a serial killer from one of those creepy movies that Caroline and Will sometimes like to watch.

"Uh- yes, I suppose. My son has recently gotten into a lot of trouble at school," I said. A lot of trouble was incorrect, actually. It was more of a mountainous heap of trouble- in which Jason had yet to yell at Will about. I smiled. That, at least, I was looking forward to.

"Has he?" the doctor hummed, getting a few papers out from a cabinet in the wall. The room was tiny- a small, compact thing with one of those waiting 'beds' where children sat, a few chairs, a sink and cabinet, and a wall of brochures. I was beginning to experience claustrophobia.

"Yes," I said, a bit ticked off. This doctor could speed it up. He had no need to take all day doing his business.

"Well," Dr. Andrews said, a wide smile plastered on his face, "I do hope you like children."

"Uh- yeah. I like children," I told him, unsure of what he was talking about.

"And, before I say anything else, I just want to comment on your healthy status and say congratulations. I know you'll be so proud," Dr. Andrews remarked.

"What on Earth are you saying here?" I said, fully pissed.

"You don't know?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"No," I snapped. "Please get on with it."

Dr. Andrews's eyes were twinkling. "Oh, goodness. You really don't have a clue?"

"No!" I shouted. "Get on with it, if you _please_!"

"Why, Mrs. Grace," he said with a short laugh.

"You're pregnant."


	11. Chapter 11: Plunges and Phones

A/N: I'm back! I really need to think of more chapter openers… anyhow, thank you _so much _for the reviews! You guys are so sweet!

To Athenachild101: Good job guessing! See if you can guess my next reveal in this chapter! *HINT HINT*

Well, here we go with chapter eleven! I hope you guys like it!

* * *

Chapter Eleven

MARILYN'S POV

* * *

**I needed to escape.**

My ADHD was starting to act up, and I tapped my leg nervously. My fingers twitched, and I had the urge to go run, jump, kick, fly, _anything_. My heart thrummed like a rabbit's, and I banged my head against the wall. I needed _out, _and I needed it now.

One, two, three, four, I counted. Five, six, seven, eight. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Deep breaths. In, out. In, out. I tried to steady my constantly moving figure, but apparently, that wasn't going to be possible. My eye twitched.

That was it. In my defense, I really did try.

I opened my window, letting the cool breeze brush over my face. I sucked in the fresh, crisp air, relishing the slightest bit of spring. A light _tap, tap, tap _of water startled me, and I smiled softly. The thaw of spring was finally here.

It was a beautiful day outside. A pale blue sky like frosted ice was overhead, and thin white trails of clouds weaved across its surface. A quarter moon was faintly visible in the sky, and a bright sun peeked out from behind the clouds.

Two floors below me, beneath the dark green mass of writhing ivy, there was a dark brown soil. I smelled the pungent odor of mulch, and a few vivid green shoots were poking up from the ground- the first evidence of daffodils, no doubt.

For the first time in a long time, the world was wet. Not frozen, not wintry, not arctic- truly humid and wet, the kind that paints trees' branches a darker brown and makes the first few leaves glisten. Birds chirp somewhere, and I smile.

My room is on the corner of the house. Below me is the dining room, and further down, my father's office. There are windows all the way down the right corner, but there is also ivy vines, creeping up the crimson bricks.

I straighten my jeans. One of the surpluses of today's suspension was my choice in dress, and I had taken full advantage: navy jeans, a tight long-sleeved green t-shirt, and brown combat boots. My hair hung loose around my face, and though the word 'suspension' brought dread into me- I was thankful for the simple things. Like the fact that I was able to relax. Though I was still exhausted, it was nice not to overexert myself for the first time in days.

That being said, I was going stir-crazy. Having pulled up the dream interpretation site more times than I could count, I was amused for the first hour, bored in the second, and downright disgusted in the third. I had then proceeded to pull up Netflix and spend a full hour looking for movies, to finally decide on _Hannah Montana_. It was a sad but true fact that I found it surprisingly entertaining.

However- there was only so much Rico that a girl could take. I had begun to pace my room nervously, and that was when I reached the conclusion that I should let my ADHD take over. My father was going to kill me, so I was going to have to escape the hard way.

By ivy.

I looked down at the slippery mess of plants skeptically. I had seen it in movies countless times, as well as books, so I figured it would work. A branch from an oak tree would be preferred, but I couldn't always have what I wanted.

There was also the question of where I would go. For now, I figured I would just run. My photographic memory would keep track of the streets and such. I would run back when I was ready. My father probably wouldn't even notice- or, more accurately, truly care.

I wasn't running away. I was just- taking a break. I needed to _run_.

I studied the slippery vine carefully. It looked sturdy enough. I was a small girl, after all, much to my chagrin. I could handle a stupid ivy vine. It was fine. If stunt doubles could do it, I could handle it. This was a matter of life and _death _with my ADHD.

I opened my window and carefully took out the screen. I didn't break it; just removed it. I knew how to put it back in. Stepping over the threshold, I looked for spiders carefully. Shuddering, I remembered my experience when a wolf spider had shown up at school. I had screamed and jumped up on the table, shrieking bloody murder.

Needless to say, Mrs. O' Connell never really liked me after that.

I hurried through the window quickly, and swallowed. I was also afraid of heights, and somewhere in the back of my mind I was wondering what the hell I was thinking. This was a very bad idea. I grabbed the vine and set my feet down on either sides of the corner.

I swallowed my scream as a car whizzed past. _Trust the ivy, Marilyn. Trust the ivy._

I couldn't move.

There was a snap, and I shrieked as I fell backwards. The part of the ivy that my hands were holding broke free of the wall, and my feet were wrenched from their hold. I screamed, hanging precariously.

_OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodI'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodie, _I thought, screaming for anyone. There was a ripping noise as I fell further from the window.

"Marilyn! What the _hell _are you doing?" My father shouted from his window. My sight was blurred with tears. I didn't want to die.

"Help me!" I screeched, sobbing hysterically. Shit, shit, shit, I was going to die at thirteen years old. I could see the kids at school laughing at me now. _Yeah, she tried to escape by an ivy vine- that Jackson sure was dumb, wasn't she?_

The vine snapped again for the last time and I fell down, thinking that it was all going to end right there. I was going to die. What a dumb way to die.

And then I didn't.

I fell onto the hard mulch, spitting bits out of my mouth. My shoulder shook, and I stopped crying. One thing at a time. I sat up, wincing. Everything hurt.

Oh, Jesus Christ. Was my leg supposed to look like that?

Pain blinded my vision. _Ow_. Jesus _Christ, _that hurt. I screamed for a long time, until someone picked me up. I continued to wail, a blurry veil of pain obscuring my vision.

I wasn't sure how long it had been when the sirens came. Long after my ears starting ringing and I had closed my eyes. Long after I could no longer feel anything.

Right before someone pressed a needle into my neck, and everything went black.

* * *

REESE'S POV

**My mother was going to kill me.**

I had managed to get a week's worth of detention in one day. Bridge had still looked scandalized when she wrote the pink slip: apparently, the conservative Catholic side in her was showing. She was one of the only teachers at St. Gabriel's that wasn't a nun, but she acted like one.

It was the end of the day, and I had stopped by to get my phone back from Bridge. She simply looked at me, a scowl twisting her features. "I had better not see that again," Bridge warned me, gesturing towards the phone.

I nodded my head diligently. "Yes, Mrs. Bridge." _Yeah, right, _I thought._ In the dimension where I like to learn. _

She gave me a suspicious once-over as I grabbed my phone greedily. Hurrying out of the classroom, I clutched it to my chest. I didn't _live _without my cell. I checked the messages- I had three from Lyn.

**R u still there?**

**Res?**

**OMG U DITCHED ME!**

And… a reply from Mrs. Bridge. Shit. Mrs. Bridge had sent Lynnie a text message. I snickered a little. Marilyn probably got a heart attack from that. Some part of me insisted it wasn't funny, but it kind of was, in an odd, abstract way.

_Dear Miss Jackson,_

_ I would like to kindly inform you that you ARE still suspended. You should be spending that time repenting instead of texting a hardworking student in this class. Do not 'text' further if you wish to be free after school._

_ Sincerely,_

_Mrs. Bridge_

I snorted. Hardworking. Yeah, right. Again: in the dimension where I like to learn. I sent her another text.

**dear miss jackson,**

** are you still alive after that last text? **

**luv,**

**miss winters**

I waited for her to text back while I walked to detention. Once there, I grimaced at the sorry state. It was a small, cramped room, with the math teacher, Sister James, sitting at the desk. She glanced up, a permanent frown etched onto her face.

"Sit, Winters," she grumbled from her seat.

I complied, sitting in the back of the room. I opened my pencil pouch, snatching a piece of gum. The minty taste exploded in my mouth, and I smacked it loudly, earning not so much as a glance from James. Still as deaf as a doorknob, I supposed.

I glanced down at my phone, frowning at the lack of messages. If I knew Lyn, she was probably going insane with her ADHD. I snickered as my phone buzzed.

_Is this Reese?_

I looked down at the text from Marilyn, puzzled. No, it wasn't Reese. It was Edward Cullen, your nightmare. I just wanted to terrify you with my sparkly skin. I sniggered out loud, getting a few odd glances from people.

**no. actually, its professor dumbledore. just thought i would let you know.**

I imagined Lyn reading this, and thought back to a time last year when we were debating popular fiction heroes.

**_"Edward is perfectly fine!" I shouted indignantly._**

**_Lyn snorted. "Uh-huh."_**

**_"What is your problem with him?" I asked, more than slightly miffed._**

**_"Uh- everything," Marilyn said, as if this should be obvious._**

**_"Explanations, please," I said, starting to get annoyed._**

**_"Alright, fine! It's like this: I am Harry Potter, the chosen one! I am Tobias Eaton, legendary four fears of Dauntless! I am Peeta Mellark, star-crossed double victor of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games! I am Frodo Baggins, bearer of the Ring and saver of Middle Earth! And then: I am Edward Cullen, and I sparkle!"_**

**_I made a face at her. "Yeah- well- you're-"_**

**_"What?" Marilyn said, crossing her arms. "Brilliant? Amazing? CORRECT?"_**

**_"Possibly," I muttered._**

My phone buzzed, and I smiled.

_Reese, this is Mr. Jackson, Marilyn's father._

Oh, shit.

**oh! sorry mr. jackson.**

I cannot believe I just told Mr. Jackson that I was Dumbledore. Now I've actually got a list of people who are going to kill me: Mr. Jackson, Mom, Marilyn- coincidentally, all people whose names begin with a 'm'.

_It's fine, Reese._

Alright. I needed to ask it. Why the hell was Marilyn not on her phone?

**mr. jackson, if i could… where is marilyn?**

My phone vibrated not much later.

_Marilyn fell off the side of our house._

Excuse me? I seriously hoped that was auto-correct.

**oh my gods are you serious? is she ok?**

I did not mistake this man for someone who liked to joke. He was a very scary man. Very tall, extremely muscled, and extraordinarily terrifying. Besides the fact that he was rather good looking. I knew it was awkward, thinking of my best friend's dad as a supermodel, but it was true. Marilyn obviously got the genetics.

_Marilyn is fine- of a sorts. She broke her leg in the fall-all of it- and needs crutches, a wheelchair, and a brace, but otherwise, she's fine._

I started to get a suspicion.

**ARE YOU PRANKING ME MARILYN ELISE JACKSON? **

She had better not be pranking me. If she was- gods, Marilyn would be in so much trouble with me. My phone buzzed.

_No. Unfortunately for Marilyn, she thought climbing the vine outside her window was a stellar idea. She's at the Norfolk County Hospital right now- she should be back by Monday._

Was she really persisting this?

**SHUT UP BITCH AND PRANK SOMEBODY ELSE IN YOUR SPARE TIME!**

Ha. _That _would teach her.

_Excuse me?_

Oh my gods. She was driving me insane.

**GO FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO BOTHER ASSHOLE!**

**p.s.- jk. but really.**

I would win this pranking battle. My phone buzzed then, constantly, and Marilyn's phone number came up on the screen. I chuckled. She was actually calling me.

"I have to go run some errands. I'll be right back," James said, rising from her desk.

Perfect timing. I pressed answer.

"Hello, BBF? Best bitchy friend?" I said sweetly.

"Hello, Reese," a cold voice said.

Oh shit.

"Hey!" I said, but my voice came out all squeaky. "Ya know, Mr. Jackson, I think you're a great guy, really."

Mr. Jackson snorted. "Don't bullshit me, Reese."

Ooh. Mr. Jackson swo-ore, Mr. Jackson swo-ore… I should probably stop now. Not singing childish songs to Ring around the Rosy was probably a good idea. Oh, shoot. Now that was just creepy. It was like I was singing at his funeral or something. Damn Lyn and her stupid fun facts about scarlet fever.

"Uh- Marilyn thinks you're a great guy too!" I said, getting a few snickers from a couple of people.

Mr. Jackson laughed bitterly. "I'm sure."

A flare rose up in me. "Come on, you can't expect her to like you."

"Did you really just say that to me?" Mr. Jackson demanded.

I sighed. "No. I said my real name is Pinkie Pie and I'm in love with your daughter."

"Holy Hera. You know about that too?" Mr. Jackson said, obviously worried.

Wait. What did he just say?

"Holy Hera?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"No," Mr. Jackson replied quickly. "Holy- heck. Holy heck is what I said."

"No, you said Holy Hera," I said quietly.

Mr. Jackson laughed. "Honestly, Reese? Do you really think I would be worshiping a dead religion?"

_Yes. Yes, actually, I do. _There was some sort of anxious edge to his voice- he was worried about something. I wasn't about to say anything; he was far too frightening and intimidating for that. I made a mental note to ask Mom about Percy Jackson. I wondered if he was a demigod as well.

"No," I said. "No, of course not."

"Good," Mr. Jackson said, again a tinge of something odd in his voice- relief, perhaps. I wondered if I was picking up what I wanted to see, but then again, I was used to trusting my instincts. "And you know about the horse- whatever it is? Gods, she reminds me of Caligula."

Oh, shit. There it was again. I ignored the 'gods' as best as I could. "Uh- Mr. Jackson, I dunno who Caligula is. I'm really sorry about texting you and all, but I also happen to be in detention. So."

There was a long sigh. "You're texting in detention?"

"Like you wouldn't have if you were my age!" I said indignantly. A few spectators raised their eyebrows.

"Actually, I probably would have. The good thing is, I'm thirty-six years old. I can afford to tell you what to do. I will call your mother, Reese," Mr. Jackson said, an undercurrent of irritation in his voice.

"Hypocrite," I muttered. Wow, my manners were low today. Mom was probably going to ground me when I got home if Mr. Jackson tattled on me.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you manners?" Mr. Jackson said.

"Yes, but I only give them to deserving people," I said sweetly. For once in my life, I actually didn't feel bad about this. I wasn't one of those moral people with the saying 'two wrongs don't make a right'. I was one of those people who said 'revenge is sweet, my friend'. It wasn't exactly vengeance, but it would do.

"That's it. I'm calling your mother," Mr. Jackson said. "What's her phone number?"

Oh, this was _too_ easy. I could give him any phone number. Sister James walked into the room, and I got a brainstorm. The phone in her class- of course. Sister James was in for a little surprise, I supposed.

"667-990-0009," I reported. "Have fun."

I hung up the phone. Oh, dear gods, this was going to be fun. There was a bleep, and, quite predictably, just as Sister James sat down, she picked up the phone from her desk. She looked quite puzzled.

Other kids looked up as James said, "Hello?"

There was a muffled sound. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know any Percy Jacksons. You must have the wrong number," James said.

I snickered into my palm. "What's that? Is there a Reese Winters there?" James asked, puzzled.

Oh, shit. Poor planning. Mr. Jackson was probably going to kill me now. I had a good life. Full of last-minute revelations about Apollo and all that jazz. You know- a savior would have been pretty good right about then.

"Uh- yes. You say you're Marilyn Jackson's father? This is St. Gabriel, correct," James said, a comical expression on her face. "Uh- yes, you may speak with Reese Winters."

Oh, shit. I didn't want to die. I stood, my legs shaking. Slowly, I took the receiver from Sister James. "Hello, Mr. Jackson," I said weakly.

"Hello, Reese. Your mother's phone number. Now, please."

I mustered my courage. I could do this. I set down the receiver, hanging it up.

"Sorry," I said quietly to the phone, "but you'll just have to wait for that one."

* * *

**"Hey, Mom," I called.**

Mom walked into the kitchen, a pinched expression on her face. "You're a bit late, Reese Veronica Winters."

I grimaced. My bike was parked in the garage. "Uh- I went for ice cream," I lied.

Mom raised her eyebrows. "Ice cream? Was this before or after detention?"

I dropped my backpack down. "Mm, what smells good?" I asked, ignoring the previous question.

Mom groaned. "You _did _have detention. The second detention _this month_. I'm running out of punishments, Reese!"

"Okay, look," I said. "Let's get things straight here. I was not technically doing anything wrong. So, I was on my phone in first bell-"

"_Really, _Reese?" Mom said.

"-which was fine because everyone else was on their phone too!" I said.

"Two wrongs don't make a right."

"I'm not a moral person!" I exclaimed. "Anyhow, I was having an extremely odd conversation with Lynnie about her being a prostitute in love with Pinkie Pie and having sex fantasies with Pinkie Pie or something like that-"

"What?" Mom yelped. "Dear Zeus, what is that girl _on_?"

"Welcome to my world," I said dryly. "Anyway, Bitch- uh, I mean Bridge- caught me and read my extremely odd text message to the class. Hence the whole detention thing."

Mom massaged her temples. "You know what? I'm going to avoid the ultimately awkward and disturbing conversation about the content of that statement by just ignoring the event."

"That may be best," I said sagely. I started to unpack my backpack on the kitchen table. "Something really does smell good. What is it?"

"Since when do you enjoy my cooking?" Mom said, raising an eyebrow.

"Since you found out about the wonder of Campbell's," I told her. Honestly, it smelled like something was burning, but I needed to butter up. Not that I was doing a very good job of it at this point.

"What do you want, Reese?" Mom sighed.

Yes. I'm a great kiss-ass, aren't I?

"So- uh-" I watched as Mom took a drink from her glass of water. "Do you know anything about a man named Percy Jackson?"

Mom did a spit take, spraying me in water. I blinked. "Um, ew."

"Come again?" she said weakly.

"Percy Jackson," I said. "Father of my best friend, evil demon spawn, man who I accidentally cursed at repeatedly, yada-yada…"

Mom squeezed her eyes shut. "Shit."

"Whoa. Mom, you just cursed!" I said gleefully.

"Shut up, Reese, and let me think," she snapped.

"You cursed!"

"_Shut it_!"

"Got it," I muttered. Somewhere inside me, I was thrilled. Mom never swore. I wondered who Percy Jackson was, and who that would make Marilyn. Oh, damn. If she was a demigod too, I was going to go ballistic. Speaking of Marilyn, actually… "Wait. Also- another girl named Annabeth, maybe?"

Mom did another spit take. "Ew!" I complained. "Stop it!"

"What on Earth did you _do _today?" Mom asked. "A mother can only handle so much drama in forty-eight hours!"

"Uh- you can thank Lynnie for that. By the way- she's apparently hospitalized due to trying to scale the wall of her house via ivy vine," I added.

Mom stared at me as if I had grown horns. "Reese, since you've been home, you have mentioned sex fantasies involving Pinkie Pie, your best friend's father and dead wife, and your best friend falling off the side of her house. As far as I am concerned, Marilyn is in a mental state needing an asylum."

"Not gonna argue with that one," I said truthfully. "Lynnie does need a nut house."

Mom groaned. "Can I please get a break here?" she shouted at the sky. "I don't know what games you're all playing, but we're about to have _hell _down here, if we haven't already!"

Thunder crackled in the distance.

"Oh, can it!" she yelled at the ceiling. She grabbed her water bottle from the counter and threw it at the ceiling. "Stupid gods!"

There was another roar of thunder.

"Gods," Mom huffed.

"That was- eerie," I finally managed.

Mom glared at me. "Go to your room."

"Hey!" I yelped. "I thought we were in agreement with the whole 'no punishment' thing! And the explanations!"

"Ask me absolutely anything other than 'who is Percy Jackson' and I will answer it. Otherwise? Room. Immediately."

"This is a tyranny!" I shouted. "A disgrace!" I stopped to consider something. "You know, by refusing to say anything, you're pretty much guaranteeing that you knew Percy Jackson."

Mom let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, I knew Percy Jackson, alright."

There was something in the way that she said it that made me hesitate. It was an undercurrent of more than bitterness- remorse, almost. I recognized the tone from Aunt Brooke (on my father's side of the family). Aunt Brooke was this single woman in her twenties who couldn't get a man to keep her. She spoke with the same tone that Mom was speaking with now. I didn't want to press.

I did anyway.

"Was this guy your- friend?" I asked innocently.

Mom's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

I traced the leather's pattern on the kitchen seats. "Oh- just- you know- a friend. A special kind of friend."

Mom sucked in a breath. "R-room. Now."

"But-"

"I don't care. Room. Immediately."

I drooped my shoulders. "Fine," I muttered. I had to resist the urge to stomp up the stairs. Probably not a good trait, but at that moment, I didn't care. The situation that I was in was like being in a cave. Blindfolded. You knew that there was an exit somewhere, and answers; you just couldn't actually get the answers and the exit. You couldn't actually see the light. You got tantalizingly close- but every time you got within five feet of the answer, the exit moved, the answers got even further and dimmer.

Once I was in my room, I stared at the lavender walls. In the past twenty-four hours, the world as I knew it had changed. I was never going to be able to do anything normally again, whether it was drinking a latte or going to Disney world. I was always going to be looking for gods, or demigods, or monsters.

Now, despite the crash course in Greek mythology, I still felt left in the dark. There was something to do with that prophecy that Mom wasn't telling me about, and something big that was happening. There was going to be a huge catastrophe, and pretty damn soon, at that.

That was where my information ended. I knew prophecies could never happen for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. Yet, in my gut, I had a feeling that something with the gods was happening. After yesterday's ordeal, I had learned to trust my intuition- I just wasn't quite sure how far to trust it.

I yelled in frustration and kicked the wall.

I needed answers.

I had none.

* * *

WILL'S POV

**I banged my head against the wall. **

There was something to be said for irony. For one, I was sitting here, suffering from the effects of ADHD. ADHD was supposed to ready my battle reflexes, but all it was doing was making me antsy and worse off in a battle. My hands literally trembled. At this point, I couldn't hold my sword, _Harpe_, if I tried.

Essentially, my battle reflexes were hurting my chance in battle.

I looked at the clock. Piper should have been back by now- I wondered what was taking her so long. I groaned, banging my head against the wall. There was a jittery desire to move, to get out.

I gazed around my room. The bed had been completely set up: a loft bed, just below the ceiling. Underneath the loft bed was my desk and Mac, as well as a separate table for my drawings. I had already doodled enough to bury someone alive; I drew anything and everything from lightning to Marilyn.

It seemed a bit odd that I would draw her (and her father), but I found them both intriguing. Percy and Annabeth Jackson. Their names bounced around my head. Percy and Annabeth, Annabeth and Percy. And Marilyn.

Definitely Marilyn.

My dresser was set up as well; drawers full of basketball shorts and sneakers. I groaned, colliding my head against the wall once more. My life wasn't bad, I knew that. That being said, at that moment, I would have been very clear on my position of my life. I hated it. Despised.

A door slammed somewhere in the distance. I flung open my door and rocketed down the stairs, where Piper was sitting at the kitchen table. The kitchen for the most part had been assembled: the servants had the actual cooking area, while we had a large, rectangular area of space. There was a mahogany dining table with pale yellow chairs lined up around it. In the center, a vase of white lilies sat.

To the right of the table, there was a small breakfast nook. It took up a corner, so part of it was windows, and one of the chairs was a window seat. China cabinets lined the walls, though they weren't full of china. Instead, weapons and quest relics sat in the glass cases, glittering menacingly.

The walls were painted a dark red, with green and yellow accents. A crimson ornate rug laid on the floor, and I stepped on it. The rug tickled my feet. To my left, a wooden swinging door that the maids came through rested on its hinges. Lastly, above me, there was a massive crystal chandelier. It twinkled in the glare of the old-fashioned lamps perched on the weapon cabinets.

I crashed down to my knees with a thump. "Please, Mom, please," I begged. "Let me be _free_."

Piper didn't answer. Instead, she let her face fall into her palms. Her shoulders shook. I studied her for a moment. In all of my life, I had never seen my mother cry. She got shiny-eyed when Jason came home, but that was about it. Her brown curls hung around her face like a veil.

I stood up awkwardly. "Uh- Mom- are you okay?"

She turned her head up and made a little sniffling sound. Her eyes were red and a little bleary. "Yeah," she said weakly. "Yeah. I'm alright."

I hesitated. "Look- I'm no genius, or anything, but you don't look very okay to me." I was torn between wanting to take advantage of this weak moment and wanting to comfort her. I was also torn from feeling terrified and triumphant.

Piper sighed. "Look, Will, I need to make a call. Just- go. Okay?"

I remembered that she had gone to the doctor's office. "Are you sick?" I asked. My mind ran through worst case scenarios. As much as I found my mom to be a bit difficult sometimes (what middle school kid didn't), I didn't want her to die.

"No," Piper said, averting her eyes.

"Liar."

She sighed. "Look, Will, you honestly don't want to know my problem right now."

"Yes, I do," I said. "I'm very stubborn as well. If this is something big, you're going to have to tell me eventually. You might as well tell me now."

Piper stared at me for a long time. "This is not a good idea."

"It's an awesome idea, actually. Please, Mom." I was already starting to get hyperactive about possibilities.

"Fine. You'll probably find out anyway, some way or another," Piper said. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Look- Will- the thing is- I'm-"

"Well?" I prodded.

Piper visibly swallowed. "I'm pregnant."

For a moment, I actually got vertigo. I felt dizzy and faint. I staggered backwards, and my brain felt addled. Pregnant. And, being the genius I was, I came up with a genius comment.

"_Holy shitting Hera. _Mother say_ WHAT NOW_?" I said, my voice shaky.

"Language, William," Piper mumbled.

"N-n-no," I said. "We aren't done just yet. You're pregnant? As in, I'm going to have _another _sibling in nine months? Say _what now_?"

"Yes. William, I'm pregnant." Piper looked down at the floor. "You should have a sibling around New Year's, maybe Christmas."

Something occurred to me. "Holy _shit_. Does Dad know yet?"

Piper slunk down in her chair.

"Oh, fuck," I cursed.

"_William_!" Piper exclaimed.

"Uh-uh, don't you 'William' me," I said, wagging my fingers. "I thought you were done with Reid. Dad doesn't even know yet. You are going to have a shitting baby, Mom. I think this just may qualify for a circumstance worthy of fuck."

Piper glared at me. "I thought you were grounded."

"And I thought you were done having babies!" I argued.

She groaned. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"Yes, it was a bad idea to go and get pregnant," I told her. "You can't even handle us now as it is! You're going to go up the shitting wall! Dad is going to have a cardiac arrest when he finds out!"

"He will not," Piper said, though her voice lacked conviction.

"When did this even happen?" I exploded, and then I held up a hand. "You know what? I don't even wanna know."

"Gods, William, calm down!" Piper finally said, standing up. "Yes! I am pregnant!"

There was the sound of the door opening. Oh, shitnuggets. My siblings were home. Oh, shit, shit, shit. Shitnuggets. See? There it was. The insanity. What kind of a swear was shitnuggets? It sounded like evil chicken poop food poisoning.

Oh, gods.

"Mom," I hissed. Gods, what if they overheard the conversation.

"Don't you 'Mom' me," Piper said, mimicking my words from earlier. "I am pregnant! And you will deal with it! I'm getting sick and tired of your shenanigans and your charades! It is about time that you learn to stay grounded and stay put and _do what you are told_! I am pregnant, William Grace, and you will deal with it!"

Shitnuggets.

Three children stood in the doorway of the eating room, their mouths open. Caroline's eyes were dilated to the size of quarters. Shitnuggets. Evil chicken shit was coming to attack the Earth. We have no chance of survival.

Finally, Janie spoke up. "Momma says _what now_?"

Oh, my sister and I were so alike. It warmed my heart.

Piper turned the color of ashes. "Oh. Uh. Hi, Janie, Caroline, Reid. Welcome home from school."

Caroline paled. "You're _pregnant_?"

Piper scratched the back of her neck. "Yes."

"Huh?" Reid said, a confused expression on his face. "What? What does 'prenat' mean?"

All of us swiveled towards Piper.

She grimaced. "Uh- Reid- Mommy is going to have a baby."

Reid's eyes turned as wide as saucers. "A _baby_?"

"Oh, shit," Caroline said. "Are you serious? What did Dad say?"

"She hasn't told him yet," I filled in.

"Gods," Caroline said. "Shit."

"Fuck," Janie said.

We all turned to her. The time when your nine year old sister drops the f-bomb right in front of your mother is precisely when you know you are intensely screwed. Piper's mouth dropped open.

"Janice Grace! And, for that matter, Caroline and Will as well!" Piper said.

Reid looked confused. "Momma, what does shit and-"

Piper paled. "Nothing, Reid, nothing. Do not go repeating that at school, please. Or anywhere else."

I snorted into my palm as Piper shot me a venomous glare.

"All of you, out!" Piper finally demanded.

I looked at her. "Pregnant lady say what?"

"I need to make a phone call to your father. Get out. Now."

I groaned, but followed my siblings up the stairs. "Five kids," Caroline muttered to herself. "Five _freaking _kids."

Oh, Caroline. Always the chaste no-swearer.

Well, then.

My mom was pregnant with her fifth child.

On the bright side, I was no longer bored.

* * *

PIPER'S POV

**I was close to tears.**

I was pregnant. With my fifth child. My fingers trembled as I pulled my iPhone out from my jeans pocket. This time next year, I would have a baby. For the first time in my string of pregnancies, I was scared. Four children were trying my patience. The nanny had her hands tied behind her back. The reality of it was, like my son so graciously pointed out, I wasn't going to be able to take care of my kids by myself.

After a few rings, Jason picked up. "Yello?" he said.

My heart jumped at his voice. I leaned against my dining room table. "Hey, Jase," I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"What's up, Piper?" Jason asked.

Shoot. "Uh- I just had my doctor's appointment," I said, playing with my fingernails. It was time for me to make a new appointment- the crimson was chipped. I would probably take Janie and Caroline with me.

"Is there anything wrong?" Jason said, an obvious undercurrent of distress in his voice.

"No," I said immediately. I bit my lip. "Well- sort of, I guess."

"'Sort of'? What kind of an answer is that?"

"Not much of one," I admitted. I took a deep breath. "Look- Jason, I'm pregnant."

There was a thick silence.

"The doctor's sure?" Jason finally said quietly.

"Yes," I told my husband. "I've gone over everything. The results all match up- I'm pregnant, Jason."

"Okay," he said, letting a breath out with the word. "Okay."

"I can't do this," I said, my voice breaking. "I can't control Carrie, Will, Janie and Reid now, as they are. There is no way that I am going to be able to simultaneously manage a teenager, preteen, troublemaker, six-year old, and baby at the same time."

"Hey," Jason said. "It'll be okay."

"I know." I decided to start on my one idea. "I just need- help."

"Aw, shit," Jason cursed. "Another nanny?"

"No," I said slowly. "Just- a friend."

"Hmm. You know- that's not the worst idea."

"So I can?" I said hopefully. Please, please, please. If there was one person I knew who could handle my kids, it was one of my best friends. "There's room."

"Are you positive that's a good idea? They have kids as well," Jason told me. I could imagine him wringing his hands- that cute tick he always had when he got nervous.

"Please. Jason, have you ever known their kids to get out of hand? They're like military soldiers," I told him.

"Yeah. That's true, I suppose. Gods, we have the worst luck, don't we? They get all the behaving children and we get the rebellious ones," Jason said.

"Mm-hm," I sighed. "There is no justice."

Jason laughed. "A mother's work is never done."

"Shut it."

There was a pause. "Piper- gods. You're pregnant. Fuck."

"My family has the worst mouth of any family I know," I said. "Both Janie and Will dropped the f-bomb. Will dropped shit around seventy times. I'm pretty sure that Caroline no longer regards shit as a swear. And Reid- he repeated them."

He chuckled. "I suppose that's my genetics. Sorry."

"You're fine," I said mildly.

Jason sighed. "I love you, Piper. Are- are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"As long as you are," I admitted.

"Alright. Thank you, Piper. I love you to death. You know that, right?" Jason queried.

"I love you too, Jase. I know," I said softly.

He hung up, and the line went dead.

I sucked in a deep breath. This plan to save my ass was either going to work or drastically fail- at this point, I wasn't sure which. I pulled up contacts and scrolled through, crossing my fingers. My heart thumped wildly in my chest.

The phone rang once more.

"Hello?" a familiar voice picked up.

"Hi, Leo," I said. "Listen- I have a favor to ask."


	12. Chapter 12: Camps and Cousins

A/N: Here I am again! Back with another chapter. Thank you all SO MUCH for the reviews! They make me want to continue writing. You guys are so incredibly awesome. Anyhow, with that, here we go with chapter twelve…

* * *

Chapter Twelve

MARILYN'S POV

* * *

_I woke to the sound of chatter._

_ The ground beneath me was hard and solid; firmly packed dirt and dust. A bee buzzed right by my ear, and I brushed my hand along my earlobe to dispel the uncomfortable humming. Grass tickled my chin and I opened my eyes._

_ A bright blue sky hung above me without a single cloud in sight. The sun beat down on my face, and I blinked several times to drive away the lingering spots in my vision. I winced in pain- something hurt, extraordinarily bad._

_ I moaned in pain. Tendrils of pain shot up my legs, and I gasped. "Help-" I said, my voice choking. "Help." It came out as a hoarse whisper, and my voice cracked, changing it to a thin falsetto._

_ As far as I could realize, I was in the middle of the cabin-like structures once more. This time, kids strolled around, sometimes with swords, daggers, and even genuine longbows. One girl stopped._

_ With a start, I realized her as the girl from my previous dream: Lila. A silver stiletto was strapped into her leg with a leather holster. It was tiny, sharp, and ultimately terrifying. I wondered how messed up my life was if this is what I was dreaming._

_ "What was that?" Lila asked, her voice a little shaky._

_ A boy laughed. He was good looking, like Lila- he sported a tan and blonde hair. A quiver of arrows and a longbow was strapped to his back. I recognized him as the boy who had shouted at Lila earlier. "Gods, Lila. You're skittish as a cat today," he said with a grin._

_ "Shut up, Mason," she snapped. "I'm serious. I think I really heard something this time."_

_ "Yes, like you said the last time, and the time before that, and then the time before that. I understand. We all saw the girl, Lila- probably just some practical joke played by Mr. D or something," Mason said, rolling his eyes. "There's nothing there."_

_ God, I wanted to kill him. There _was _someone there, and that happened to be me. A girl in extreme pain. With a grimace, I realized I was perched under a fancy water fountain, obscuring me from their view. "Help!" I croaked._

_ "Alright, now I definitely heard something," Lila said. "You can't deny that!"_

_ Mason shifted uncomfortably. "It's probably just your overactive imagination."_

_ "Help!" I said again. I was probably pantomiming a helpless damsel in distress at this point, but there wasn't much I could do about that one. _

_ "That's it!" Lila said. "I'm going to go get Chiron!"_

_ "I'm over here!" I said urgently. Pain shot through my leg. I remembered the fall from my house, the sickening crunch of something breaking- and my tangled limb. It looked much the same now, to my chagrin._

_ Mason turned his head, and slowly starting walking toward me. I thanked whatever divine force was in charge of this freak reality show. My injuries hurt in my dreams, too. That just wasn't right._

_ Then, all of a sudden, Lila was standing over me. "Holy shit," she murmured. Her eyes studied me. Then, she knelt down. "Where are you hurt?"_

_ "Mmph- leg-" I groaned. I was hardly conscious when a pair of arms picked me up. _

_ "Zeus," Mason muttered, somewhere in a different world. "What the hell did she do to herself?" His voice resonated in my ears._

_ "I don't know," Lila admitted. Fingers brushed across my face, and I grimaced. There was blood on my forehead. Not a lot (as far as I could tell, at least), but enough to leave a mark._

_ "Help," I said weakly._

_ "We will," Lila said. She wrinkled her nose. "Gods, where's Caroline Grace when you need her?" _

_ "Caroline- Grace?" I managed. Why on Earth was I dreaming about Will's older sister? "Like- sister- Will Grace?"_

_ "How does she know that?" Mason muttered. "She shouldn't know that, Lila!" _

_ "Mason, there will be time for questions later," Lila chided. "She needs help. Like, now."_

_ At this point, it was becoming difficult to breathe. My throat felt closed up. "Water. Please," I said with some difficulty. "Please."_

_ Lila glared at Mason. "Questions later. She needs a doctor."_

_ Mason looked at me uneasily. "Uh- I don't think so. We don't even know her! She could be a monster in disguise!"_

_ "She could just as easily be a goddess," Lila argued._

_ Mason scoffed. "Uh-huh. Sure."_

_ Oh, my God. I was stuck with two idiots. They thought I was either a monster or a goddess. Jesus. My vision started to blur, and, much to my embarrassment, I started to cry. "Please. Hurt. Please," I begged, my voice thick._

_ "We have to help her," Lila said. "We have to, Mace."_

_ "No, we don't," Mason said, crossing his arms. "Leave her. She'll reveal herself soon enough."_

_ "Unless she really needs our help!" _

_ "Who do you think she is? She's not one of us, that's for sure," Mason said, smirking._

_ "She could be one of us! Or a Legacy, or just- gods, Mason, just help her! I'm not strong enough to carry her!" Lila cried in frustration._

_ Mason dropped me like a sack of potatoes. He said something, but I didn't hear him because of my loud screaming. Oh my God. I hurt _so_ badly. My ears rang, and my vision blurred. I was aware of all of my senses, and I screamed even louder. The least someone could do was make it stop._

_ Then, a pair of hands were placed on me. There was a trembling feeling, almost like the jitters of caffeine rushing in my blood, and then everything stopped. The pain faded to a dull buzz- still there, but it was numb._

_ I heard everything acutely, and I saw a girl perched over me. She was beautiful- though more of an exotic beauty than Lila. Her hair was green, a really bright green, almost like my eyes. Her eyes were a bronze, golden color, like a cat. They studied me coldly._

_ In the background, Lila and Mason were having a screaming match. I opened my mouth to speak, though my tongue felt intensely large for my mouth. "Bwtho awe yaouh?" I managed._

_ The girl smiled, though the friendly gesture didn't meet her eyes. "My name is Scylla," she told me._

_ I frowned. "Bwike he bmonstew?" _

_ Scylla arched an eyebrow. "Very good, yes, like the monster. My father was a street magician- always obsessed with tricks and such. He thought it would be amusing to name me after a monster."_

_ "Bwhoah bwas byouah bmohewa?" I said. _

_ "My mother," Scylla said, holding her hands out, "is Hecate. Greek goddess of magic and the Mist." Green fire appeared the palms of her hands._

_ I scrambled backwards, my eyes wide. It was best not to contradict the scary eighteen year old with green fire. I gulped._

_ "Scy, you're scaring her!" another girl complained. I blinked several times as I saw her. The girl's features were almost Asian. Her hair was eerily white, almost a translucent color. Colors rippled throughout it like water, making a miniature rainbow. One moment, it was a bubblegum pink, another moment, it was the same color as my eyes. Her eyes were the same; changing colors. It gave me vertigo just looking at her._

_ Scylla smirked. "You're just mad you can't do this yourself, Wanda."_

_ Wanda made a face. "Shut up."_

_ "Make me," Scylla said._

_ "Make me," Wanda mimicked. She knelt down beside me. "Hey- are you okay?"_

_ "Bwho awe you?" I asked. My tongue felt as if it were shrinking, and I was able to form my words more clearly._

_ Wanda grinned. "My name is Wanda Mizushima. Daughter of Haru Mizushima and Isis, the rainbow goddess." She held out her hand and a miniature rainbow glittered in her palm. Not as terrifying as Scylla, but still impressive._

_ "Are byou guys imbsane?" I stuttered. I shook my head. "Bglad this is a dreamb."_

_ Wanda and Scylla exchanged looks. They seemed to have a silent conversation, and I furrowed my eyebrows. Scylla raised her eyebrows, and Wanda huffed angrily. I made a face._

_ "Amb I missing sombthing here?" I asked._

_ Wanda scratched the back of her neck. "Iris is also the goddess of messages."_

_ Well, that explained a lot. I groaned- my dream was full of lunatics. They apparently had a telepathic conversation. Gods, this was so incredibly strange. It was the weirdest, most detailed dream I had ever experienced in my life. A thought occurred to me, and I arched an eyebrow._

_ "Seriously?" I said, shaking my head. "Siri is Iris backwards. So- Apple robbed Greek mythology."_

_ Wanda and Scylla's mouths dropped open._

_ "I like her," Scylla finally said, jerking her thumb in my direction._

_ "Me too," Wanda said. She turned to me. "Kid, you just blew. My. Mind."_

_ I shrugged uncomfortably. "Uh- thanks."_

_ Wanda walked away, making the mind-blowing signal with her hands. She shook her head and muttered something to herself. With a start, I realized my tongue no longer felt so thick and alien in my mouth, and I turned my torso towards Scylla._

_ I was still on the ground, but I was sitting. A crowd of demigods were arguing over in the corner of my vision, apparently in a heated debate. I saw Mason and Lila at the center of it all, as well as Wanda. _

_ Around me were the assorted cabin-like structures. I shook my head in novelty as I saw kids carrying swords and climbing in the trees above. A distant banging could be heard over the rush of the sea stone fountain sitting beside me- presumably forges, of a sort. In the distance, strawberry fields showed on the horizon to my right. To my left, the woods with the Golden Fleece sat. To the back of me, there was a huge, big, blue house, as well as a sort of pavilion. _

_ I sat on the ground, trying to think. "Where am I?" I finally asked._

_ Scylla shook her head. "Look- those questions will be answered later. For now, I'm going to leave you to Greg." _

_ I jumped as a kid emerged from behind her. Greg looked half-asleep, with soft babyish features and a mop of messy brown hair. He yawned sleepily. I was a bit worried with being left with him; he didn't exactly look like the reliable sort._

_ "Uh-" I started._

_ "Don't worry," Scylla assured me. "Greg is harmless. He's a son of Hypnos, the sleep god."_

_ I shook my head. "You people are all insane. I'm glad that I'm in a dream."_

_ Scylla just sighed exasperatedly. "Help her," she said to Greg, and then left to join the argument._

_ Greg yawned and curled up on the ground. I groaned. This dream was by far the strangest I had ever had- just by how _detailed _the whole thing was. It was at the point where it was eerie._

_ I stifled a yawn myself. "I'm tired," I said. I was still on the ground._

_ "Stop talking," Greg moaned._

_ "Fine," I muttered. Laying my head on the ground, I wondered what on Earth was happening. I wanted answers._

_ Instead, I got sleep._

* * *

**I woke with a start.**

The faint hum of hospital machines and murmuring that one often finds in a hospital faded into the background noise. I surveyed my surroundings carefully. I was in a white room with a hospital bed and a heart machine. The room resembled a doctor's appointment office except for the hospital equipment; there cabinets full of supplies, weight tester, and sink, though there was also a heart monitor present.

The pain was back, and it was just as acute as it had been in the dream. I moaned in pain as a doctor came into the room.

"Ah, you're awake, I see," the doctor noted. He was a middle-aged man with a lab coat and a stethoscope.

"Mm," I groaned.

"And still in pain," the doctor said. He pulled out a needle- probably morphine- from the cabinet. "I've been asking your father what caused your injuries, and he says you fell off the side of the house?"

"Yep," I managed. "Yeah."

The doctor sighed. "Is there any history of schizophrenia in your family, Marilyn?"

"I don't think," I said with some difficulty.

"Then- may I ask- why on Earth did you fall off your roof?" the doctor queried, obviously confused. You and I both, buddy.

"Trying- get- down. ADHD- grounded," I gasped. "Pain. Help."

"That's right, you do have ADHD, don't you?" the doctor mused. "And you were grounded? That's interesting."

Oh, my God. I was in _so _much pain right now and if he didn't just _give _me the medication, I was going to lose it. "Pain," I said urgently. "Help." I could really use that witch girl now- Scylla. I pictured her face clearly in my mind; bright, vivid green hair and those tawny cat eyes.

I saw the rest of them, too. Wanda, for one. Both she and Scylla were beautiful in a different way than I had ever seen. The word for it was not exactly beautiful- more striking. Exquisite. They both looked like faerie Barbie dolls. I saw Wanda's shimmery rainbow hair, color-changing eyes, high cheekbones, and Japanese features now.

Then there was Lila. The classic beauty. She was really just gorgeous- dark, thick black-brown hair, piercing blue eyes, full lips. Lila looked like she should be on the cover of _Vogue_. She was more the traditional kind of beautiful.

And, of course, Mason. The jerk. The tall one with the tan and blonde hair, the annoying one with the bow and arrows. I wanted to punch both him and the doctor in the face. Hard. I really didn't appreciate the lack of understanding.

Lastly, Greg. His fluffy mop of light brown hair, his round, chubby, babyish features. The kid looked like he wasn't even fully awake, which he probably wasn't. If I was looking in my dream case scenario, then his father was Hypnos. God, that was weird. A meeting place for demigods. Yes, that sounded realistic.

I was brought back to the present by yet another question by the doctor. "And how far did you fall?"

"Two and a half stories," I told him shortly. "_Pain_."

The doctor heaved another sigh. "Alright. You should be out of here by tomorrow, as we'll put a cast on that leg and an ankle brace on the other. You broke your right arm, as well- I assume you're not left-handed?"

I shook my head miserably.

"Well, in that case," the doctor said, "you should probably look into getting a scribe. It'll be at least three or four months until you get all of this off."

"Three or four _months_?" I shrieked. The only upside to this was missing gym class, but that would mean missing soccer season. Missing soccer season was in no way equivalent to the tiny surplus of getting an excuse for gym.

"Well, you will be getting a wheelchair," the doctor said, as if this was some kind of major condolence.

I glared at him vehemently.

"Hey, don't look at me, kid. You're the one who jumped off the side of your house," the doctor said, holding up his hands. "Oh- and aside from that- more than a few cuts and bruises."

That was it. "_Pain!_" I groaned. "Please- get- out- pain!"

The doctor sighed and walked over to me with the needle. The fluorescent lighting wasn't exactly sleep-appropriate, but it was better than nothing. Before I knew it, there was a sharp prick in my shoulder.

I closed my eyes, falling asleep.

* * *

REESE'S POV

**I hated being grounded.**

I had Googled Percy Jackson so many times that my head ached. The only thing that came up were endless pages of his miraculous works with aquariums. I swear to gods, these people thought he was the pinnacle of all sea animals or something like that.

Dr. Perseus Jackson. That was the only name that I had found, not Percy Jackson, the boy that had to be behind the façade. I hoped that a boy was behind that façade, at least. He had to be young and happy at some point- right?

Finally, I pulled up a webpage about his family life. I stared at my laptop, willing it to load faster. Sitting on my bed in my tiny, claustrophobic room was never a good course of action for me. I was bound to explode at some point. Thank gods that I had a queen bed that I could splay out on.

"C'mon," I muttered. The webpage finally pulled up. "Yes!" I fumbled with my mouse. The webpage looked like this:

**Perseus Jackson: the Man behind the Professor?**

**Age: 36**

**Family: daughter; name unknown, wife; name unknown**

**College: unknown**

**First name: Perseus**

**Middle name: unknown**

**Last name: Jackson**

**Place of Residence: Massachusetts, U.S.A.**

**Hobbies: unknown**

I fumed. Were they kidding me? I could tell them more than that. His dead wife's name was Annabeth, and his daughter's name was Marilyn. I cursed at the screen. Try and find some information, and Google was completely useless. What a surprise.

"Ugh!" I shouted. "Stupid computer!"

A knock sounded at my door. I made a face, setting the laptop down on my bed. The shades of pale purple and light yellow made me smile. I had always like yellow- I wasn't particularly sure why, other than the fact that there were Lemon Houses.

I smiled as I remembered Lemon Houses. No, they weren't really a thing. They were really just a name for houses that I made up with Dad when I was younger.

Every year, Mom and Dad take us to San Francisco. That's where Dad grew up, and where Mom and Dad eventually met. I don't know the whole details of the story; I just know that it was very dramatic and romantic.

Anyhow, the houses in the subdivisions surrounding San Francisco are typically tiny and full of character. Granna and Grandpa, Dad's parents, live in this itsy-bitsy little house around twenty minutes outside of the city.

It's really small- my brother and I have to sleep in the living room while my parents try to fit into the crammed, tiny closet of a bedroom. My younger brother, Jamie, and Mom both got sick with the flu one time when we were taking a vacation.

Dad took me out for ice cream, since we were no longer able to go to Disney Land. The mint-chocolate chip sundae did little to console my five-year old promises of Mickey Mouse's Ferris wheel, and I complained plenty, but Dad never said anything. He mostly sat there, staring pensively out the window of the little ice cream shop.

That entire time, I had taken into account the scenery of everything. I went all Lyn and started noticing even the tiniest details. It was a surprisingly fun thing to do- just kind of read the billboards and chuckle at the terrible advertisements. I noticed that the ice cream shop was called _Lemon Shop._ It was painted a light yellow, with black accents and shutters.

On the way back, he pointed to the house on the side of the road. "See that house, Res?" he had asked.

I had followed his finger to a tiny little house. It was pale yellow, with black shingles and shutters. I had smiled, thinking of the ice cream shop. "Yep. I see it."

"That was the house that I grew up in," Dad said proudly. "555 Ackwood Lane."

"Ackwood," I giggled.

"Hey!" Dad protested.

"It sounds like an icky forest, Dad," I told him, rolling my eyes. I grinned at the memory. Even at a mere five years of age, I still had stellar dry wit skills.

"Maybe," Dad said.

"It looks like the ice cream shop. It's all yellow," I said. "Like a… lemon house, instead of a lemon shop."

"Yeah," Dad said. "A lemon house." I saw his reflection in the rearview mirror of the old Kia, and he smiled softly to himself.

That was one of the only memories that I've ever shared with Dad. It's not like he's distant, or anything, he's just always been more of Jamie's father. They make jokes together that are so 'inside' that I can't possibly ever understand them. I shouldn't be spiteful; I have Mom.

The mom that was now a secret oracle that had passed on either a curse or a gift to me. The mom who hadn't even told Dad that she was some sort of godly… thing. Ex-oracle, whatever. Dad didn't know about any of it, as far as I know.

Which, at this point, is virtually nothing.

I stood once more, walking over to my door. "Yes?" I asked as I pressed on the handle.

Mom stood before me. Her hair was tied back in a bandanna, a few curling tendrils of flaming hair spiraling down her face. The worry lines that sometimes appeared seemed more prominent; more certain, and her lips were pressed in a tight white line. She was dressed in an Earth Day t-shirt and had a pair of dark blue denim jeans on.

"I was thinking that we could talk," Mom said quietly, gesturing to my bed.

I nodded, shrugging my shoulders. "That's fine." I sat down on the edge of my bed, and my fingers fiddled with the frayed edge of my duvet.

Mom sat down next to me, and gave a long sigh. "I haven't been straight with you."

"I know." The words came out blatant and far sharper than I had originally intended. I bit my lip, wishing I could take them back. Mom simply pursed her lips, gazing far away. I wished that I could read minds- to see beyond the aura of people, or my general hunches.

"When the gods have children- these children aren't exactly left on their own. They go to a place. Or, I should say, one of two places, depending on their origin, Greek or Roman."

"There are Roman gods as well, now?" My mind was spinning. The era of lyres and emperors that boring teachers often droned on about in stuffy rooms seemed to be coming to life. I shivered, the air around me seeming a thousand times colder.

"Yes. Yes, there are," Mom said, sounded tired. "And these camps- they are called Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter. I met your father when I was visiting Camp Jupiter. Camp Half-Blood, the camp that I worked for- they never forgave me for it."

My mouth felt as dry as sandpaper. These kids grew up at camps. They weren't just floating along, like the dust that teachers sometimes talked about orbiting around Earth, or like the plank-something that my science teacher lectured about, floating amid the turquoise waves. I swallowed a lump in my throat, a bubble of uneasiness rising up within me.

"Camp Half-Blood," I echoed weakly.

"Yes," Mom said. "Camp Half-Blood." She let out a brief, bitter laugh. "You would never believe the things I have done, Reese. The things I have seen. I hit the Lord of Time in the face with a blue plastic hairbrush."

I stared at her. "You did _what_?"

"My point exactly," Mom said softly. She fingered her hands, and for a moment, it looked as if she was holding something. I peered closer, trying to make out the object, but Mom spoke once more. "I married your father when I was twenty-three. I- I saw him as a way out of my predicament. You must understand, the concept of the mortal world was a long-lost luxury. He gave me a home. And when I had you and your brother, I hoped that the curse would not be passed on to you. It is not always genetic- but it was. I am certain of it, now." She looked at me, her green eyes unsettling.

"What about Jamie?" I said quietly. "Does he have- the-"

"No," Mom said. "He can't. He's a boy. It is impossible for the boy to ever have the Sight." She took a deep breath. "Reese, I am coming to you for a reason. You have the Sight, and it is your choice. I am giving you the option to leave. If you do not take care of your curse now, there is the possibility that it will kill you. At the same time, if you proceed, it could kill you as well. I- I have to give you the choice."

My vision blurred. "I'm going to die?"

"I'm not sure. If you leave the gift as it is- then yes, it is very much a possibility. If you get it treated, then you will most likely not die. Either way, you have the chance of yourself going senile," Mom said.

"Where would I go?" I said, my voice rising in hysteria. "Where would I even start to get this- this curse, or whatever it is, treated?" My blood stopped cold. I knew the answer before Mom even opened her mouth to speak.

"Camp Half-Blood."

The room had taken the quality of an arctic chill. For the first time in my life, the sight of the pale yellow color and the reminiscing of warmer, sun-filled vacations did little to soothe me. I had been so naïve then. In fact, I still was naïve.

I couldn't breathe.

To me, the option seemed clear. I couldn't just live my life every day, waiting for this 'sight' to kill me. I couldn't live my life in terror of going senile at the age of thirteen years old. I couldn't go to school and worry about blacking out and seeing flashes of words, bright and piercing.

Though, perhaps 'couldn't' was not quite the word for it. I could, of course. It was not a physically impossible feat. The feeling was more a pit in my stomach, writhing in anxiety. It was a resistance, I realized. The word was 'wouldn't'.

"Where is it?" I asked. The words seemed foreign to me, strange on my tongue.

Mom sighed. "Long Island. Off the coast of New York." She hesitated. "Reese- I'm no longer welcome at either of the camps. If you were to leave, then it would be for good. You probably wouldn't be given the luxury of leaving."

I blinked back tears. This wasn't fair. My entire life was being taken from under my feet, sliding away. I no longer knew right from wrong in this strange, alien world full of uncertainties. With a certainty that I no longer realized, I knew that this decision was going to change my life. If I decided to go to Camp Half-Blood, then the world as I knew it would never be the same.

I swallowed my resolve. Looking my mother directly in the eyes, I spoke quietly and precisely.

"Yes," I said. "I want to go."

* * *

WILL'S POV

**There is, I think, something to be said for family.**

I am a legacy, son of Jason and Piper Grace, famous, incredibly powerful demigods, descended from both Roman and Greek gods and goddesses, two of the most powerful civilizations in human history. That would be the simple way of looking at it, I think.

Then my family tree begins to get complicated.

I have an aunt; Aunt Thalia. Technically she's Jason's full brother; they share the same mother, and the same father- mostly, at least. You see, Thalia is the Greek demigod of Zeus, while Jason is the Roman demigod of Zeus. My family tree just depends on how deep you want to go into the godly side of things.

For example, if you really wanted to get weird, I Aphrodite was my grandmother. Technically, Uranus, or Ouranos, if you wanted to get into the Greek side of him, was my grandfather. Aphrodite was said to be descended from a chunk of Ouranos's body falling into the ocean, a part of the carnage reaped by Kronos's sickle. The sea foam bubbled up around Ouranos and created Aphrodite.

Essentially, I was the descendant of _sea foam_.

I think my parents just stopped trying to explain the strangeness of our situation. We categorize uncles and cousins by our friends, not family, unless they're on the mortal side of things. Other than Aunt Thalia, who really is blood, we just don't delve into the awkwardness that comes up when a teacher asks you about your great-grandmother. _Well, you see, on one side, it's Rhea, immortal, immensely powerful titan, and on the other side, it's sea foam._

Yes. You see why we don't bother with these sorts of things.

My relationship with the Valdez family is not genetic, actually. The legend of Hephaestus is that Hera was so irritated with Zeus (or Jupiter, take your pick) that she birthed a child by herself. The child was so ugly that she cast him down from Mount Olympus, crippling him forever.

Once you get down to the solid truth of things, Hera (or Juno) is my grandmother-in-law, who is, in turn, Hephaestus's mother- and father. Uncle Leo, the father of the Valdez family, is the son of Hephaestus. We're technically related, I suppose, just not genetically.

I thought over all of this as I stared out the window of my bedroom, awaiting my uncle's arrival. When Piper had broken the news to us yesterday, I nearly jumped up and down, squealing like a little girl. Uncle Leo was the favorite of my 'uncles', mainly because he made up for what Jason lacked in humor.

I sprawled out on my bedspread, staring up at the ceiling just inches from my face. My room had finally been fully assembled, and though it was far from feeling like home, I was finally beginning to adjust to Quincy. It was not the Lincoln Park that I was used to, but it was as close to a home and not a 'house' as I would ever fully reach.

A chime rang out through the house, and I swung my legs over my loft bed, shimmying down the ladder. I landed on the floor with a soft thump and raced over to the window. Sure enough, a Toyota Highlander was waiting in the driveway. I could just make out the tiny, doll-like Valdez family from my distance, walking along our driveway.

A grin lit up my features, and I sprinted over to my door, flinging it open. Carrie had also emerged from her room, an identical smile on her lips. Around us, a light rain pattered on the shingles of our roof, but it did little to dampen the mood around the house. It seemed that 344 Barabee Way was finally coming to life.

I clambered down our staircase alongside Caroline, and there was the slamming of doors and cacophony of multiple voices as they rang out through the house. Below, I heard Vance's cordial voice.

"Greetings, Mr. Valdez," he said coolly in his prominent British accent. Vance had never truly taken to Uncle Leo; he saw him as an uncivilized nuisance. Much to everyone's chagrin, the description was actually quite apt.

"Hello, Vance, old chap," Leo said cheerfully. I forced back a laugh as it bubbled up in my throat. I heard Vance's faint grumble of irritation as I descended the stairs, landing with a thump on the floor.

Uncle Leo turned up and beamed. "William! My accomplice in daring tricks!" he said.

A woman appeared by his elbow and nudged him gently. "Lay off the poor boy, Leo. Don't convert poor Piper's children any further, please," she said, giving me a hug. She smelled of flowers; a delicate, soft scent.

Uncle Leo sulked. "You're ruining all my fun, Callie," he complained.

Aunt Calypso smiled. "That's my job, dear," she said with a subtle twitch of her lips. "Caroline," she admonished, pulling my sister in for a hug.

There were several more thumps as Janie and Reid descended the stairs. "Jeez, it's like the _Sound of Music_ in here," Leo complained. "Sending kids two-by-two. I don't have any qualms against you guys, you know. Yet," he added as he pulled Reid in for a hug. "Hey, little man."

"Hi, Uncle Leo," Reid said, his eyes shining with admiration. I snickered. Uncle Leo was every boy's role model- he pulled off the most hilarious pranks on our parents while he was visiting. For such a mini-Jason, Reid had a hidden troublemaker spirit that was to be admired in the Grace household.

"Are you sniggering at me, William Grace?" Leo demanded in mock-severity. "I just _know _you are _not _sniggering at my awesomeness."

"Dad," a voice complained. "You're embarrassing me."

I turned to see Selene, my cousin, resting against the wall. Her mouth was turned down in her trademark scowl. Caramel hair like her mother's was in a side braid, and her dark almond-shaped eyes were squinted. She wore a pair of jeans and a Hilton Head sweatshirt.

"Nice to see you, too, Sissy," I said, calling her by Selene's much-hated nickname.

"Oh, gods," said Theo, Selene's twin brother. He dropped his suitcases, furrowing his brow. "Is Sissy being a damper already?"

"My name is not Sissy!" Selene said, her voice rising an octave in indignation. "Mom!"

Calypso sighed wearily. "Selene-"

"Shut it," Leo supplied. "Say hello to your cousins."

"I see you're charming as ever," Piper said as she walked into the room, though her smile spoiled the effect. "Hello, Leo." She pulled him in for a hug.

"Hey, Mom, where's my iPad?" Dominic, the final and youngest child in the Valdez family asked.

Calypso rolled her eyes. "Probably somewhere in the bags, Dom. Say hi to your cousins, please."

"Hi, cousins," Dominic said with a flip of his long dark-brown curls. "Seriously, Mom, where's my iPad?"

"Oh, my gods," Selene said, raising her head to the ceiling. "I've arrived in hell."

"Language, Selene," Leo said briskly, reaching for the suitcases on the floor.

"I can take those for you, Mr. Valdez," Vance interrupted, making no effort to mask his distaste. Vance picked up the suitcases and marched away, his nose upturned.

I gazed around my settings to notice our grand foyer. Light streamed in from the dome above, the skylight raining down pale light around us. The moon was just beginning to glow, lighting up the night in its luminescent, silvery glow. To my left and right, the front sitting rooms framed the hallway, one of which with a bay window. Behind us, stairs spiraled up over a small hallway that led to one of our other sitting rooms.

"You know," Leo said thoughtfully, gazing after our disappeared butler, "I really don't think he likes me."

"Picked that up, did you?" Calypso quipped with a small smile. She stepped over to Piper, and gave my mother a bear hug. "Hey, sweetie."

"Hi, Callie," Piper said, pulling away. With a pang of guilt, I noticed how tired my mother looked. Bluish circles lined the space above her cheekbones, and her hair fell in bedraggled tangles around her face. She had lost a little bit of weight- her cashmere sweater hung off her frame. I probably hadn't done anything to help the cause.

"I'm starving," Janie said. "When's dinner?"

I agreed with her wholeheartedly. Being grounded sucked, especially when you had to eat at your desk. "Ditto," I said aloud.

Piper frowned. "Will, you're still grounded."

Aw, shit. Come _on_. "What?" I complained.

Leo grinned. "What did you do? Draw on Caroline's face with Sharpie, jump out your window…"

Calypso socked him in the shoulder. "Behave yourself," she reprimanded.

"Ow!" Leo yelped. "What the hell was that for?"

"Language, Dad," Selene said sweetly. Leo shot his daughter a venomous glare while Calypso massaged her temples.

"You're a child," Calypso said to Leo. "An overgrown child."

"No kidding," Selene said with a snort.

"Really, though," Leo said, ignoring his family. "What did you do, Will?"

I shifted uncomfortably as Piper answered. "He got into a fight at school and was suspended," Piper said curtly. I felt the weight of everyone's stunned gaze on me and fidgeted with my fingers.

"What on Earth?" Calypso was the first one to speak. Her eyes traveled over me warily. "Piper-"

"There's more," Piper promised wearily. "Trust me, there's more."

Leo knit his eyebrows together. "What?"

"Not here," Piper murmured quietly, stepping closer to him. "I'll tell you later."

"Aw, c'mon!" Theo complained.

"Shut it, Theo," Leo said, sounding distracted. "Piper?"

My mother leveled his gaze with Leo. "Percy Jackson."

There was a lengthy silence as both Leo and Calypso whitened. Piper nodded gravely, sighing. "I'll tell you the rest later. Just- for now-"

"Dinner's ready, ma'am," Freddie said, appearing from nowhere.

"Saved by the bell," Selene muttered.

Saved by the bell, indeed.

* * *

PIPER'S POV

**I fiddled with my fingers.**

I was sitting in my husband's study, my fingers wrapped around a mug of steaming tea. I blew on the tea gently, gazing out the window. The study was a monstrosity on the second floor, filled ceiling to floor with book shelves. A large, mahogany desk rested in the center of the white carpet, dominating the space. I ran my fingers absently over the wood, and laid back in Jason's armchair. Behind me, the crackling and snapping noises of the fire warmed the space, though I felt cold to the bone.

A soft knock sounded at the door. I rested my mug on the table. "Come in," I called softly. The clock on Jason's desk read 10:41, and though only Reid and Dominic were asleep, I kept my voice down to a low murmur. It was best if none of the children in the household heard our conversation.

"Hey," Leo said as he pushed open the French doors. Calypso was at his side, looking stunning as ever. Her lips were pressed down in a firm, white line.

"Sit," I said, gesturing to the chairs in front of me.

They complied, Leo studying me closely. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and serious with none of his usual humor. "What the hell do you mean by Percy Jackson, Piper?"

I rubbed my face. Leo's direct nature was still prominent within his personality, apparently. "Leo, Percy's living in Quincy. And so is his daughter."

Calypso sucked in a sharp breath. "Marilyn?"

"Yes," I said, looking down at my fingers. I picked up my mug and took a sip. The chamomile did little for my frayed nerves. "She's pretty damn screwed up from what I saw."

"Gods," Leo said, shaking his head. "What the hell happened?"

I took a deep breath. "Will- he made some comment about how Marilyn was overreacting about her shitty family life, I think. Marilyn slapped him- and thus started the demigod fight. From what I've heard, several pipes exploded, Marilyn was nearly electrocuted, and they were both caught and suspended."

"Shit." Calypso looked frightened. "She has her father's powers?"

"Yes," I said. "And she looks so much like Annabeth, except for her eyes. She's got Percy's eyes."

"Damn," Leo said. "How did Percy get into this mess?"

"I was picking up Will in the office. I- I was a fool, at best. Percy was trying to get his daughter out of there, but I provoked him. He attacked me and Will." I looked up at their stunned faces. "He tried to choke both of us- and nearly did, if not for Marilyn."

"Holy Hera," Calypso muttered. "That _bastard_."

Leo gazed at me. "He hasn't got over her, has he?"

"No," I said softly. I twisted my wedding ring. "I made the mistake of mentioning Annabeth's name."

"Oh, Piper," Calypso said.

"I know. It was stupid." I let out a brief laugh. "Gods, Marilyn's going to find out eventually, isn't she?"

"Probably," Leo said, leaning back in his chair. "With her father as powerful as he is, I'm stunned that something hasn't attacked her yet."

"Something probably has," Calypso said. "Percy probably obliterated it with his incredibly terrifying glare."

Leo laughed, but the sound came out forced and choked. A heavy silence fell over us, and somewhere, I heard the laughs of Janie and Theo playing together. Somewhere in my house, Will was probably sulking in his room, Selene was probably unpacking her things in her bedroom, and Reid and Dominic were hopefully asleep. In my years of parenting, I hadn't put it past six year-old boys to hide under the covers with a flashlight.

The situation in my house was so incredibly normal that it send a chill down my spine. The past few days, I had worried so much about unordinary things- one of my former friends attacking my son, my fifth unintended child, and the suspension of the same son. It was nice to be able to sip tea and think that we were safe. Safe, calm, and normal.

"Gods," Leo finally said. "We're in deep shit, aren't we?"

"Yes," I replied, looking at him levelly. "Don't you remember Rachel's prediction before she left?"

Calypso paled, her fair skin taking on a milky tone. "Are you saying-"

"Yes, I think so," I said. "Percy Jackson has returned among the ranks of demigods. I believe he is the shadow of the warrior he once was."

"It's dangerous to interpret prophecies, Piper," Leo warned.

"It's dangerous to assume this is normal, Leo," I countered. "Marilyn is going to find out the truth behind her family sooner or later. I assume with the brains in her family that she's already begun to aspect something awry."

"Gods," Leo said. "So- she's like a smart Percy, isn't she? Except, you know, a female?"

I laughed at that, the first full laugh of the night since the name Percy Jackson had come into play. "Yes, I suppose so." A somber cloud descended over me. "She looks so much like Annabeth, it made me shudder," I admitted. "I can only imagine what Percy feels every time he looks at her."

"I'm not sure Percy is able to feel," Calypso said. "The bastard, attacking you like that."

Leo grinned. "You do realize the more common swear nowadays is 'bitch', right?"

"Shut up," Calypso said.

I sighed. "You're both children." I bit my lip. "I think Percy's able to feel. He just- shut it off, I think."

"You make him sound like he's a machine," Leo said. "Like there's a switch in his head or something."

"Maybe he is," Calypso allotted. "Gods, the _bastard_…"

I shook my head and looked out the window to my left. Night had descended over Quincy, and the moon shone down, its pale light making the trees appear like a ghastly silhouette. The first few flakes of snow drifted down, swaying gently in the wind. Thin clouds seemed to race across the sky, obscuring a few twinkling stars.

"Look," I said softly. "It's snowing."

We stayed like that for a long time, staring pensively at the snowflakes dancing on the breeze.


	13. Chapter 13: Recitings and Revelations

A/N: Wow. This chapter was difficult to write. I actually started crying when I wrote the end of this. A tip for reading the end section- try listening to the _Finding Nemo _soundtrack; the 'egg music'. It made the whole thing a lot more powerful.

To WisegirlAnnabethChase: You'll just have to wait and see!

Here we go with chapter thirteen…

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

MARILYN'S POV

* * *

**I hate my life.**

That is my one thought as I wheeled myself through the doors of St. Gabriel. I tried to divert my thoughts, gazing at the numerous children, but they stared back, befuddled, at me. I gritted my teeth angrily. This was not going to be a fun Monday; I could already tell. Thus my former realization: I truly hated my life.

They assigned a new bus to my stop, a handicap bus. This morning, I had a little assistance as I wheeled myself up the ramp, but not much. My father said nothing to me the entire ride home; just fumed silently. I found my father a lot scarier when he's silent. There was something to be said for the power of quiet nature versus the highly engaged shouting matches.

I groaned as I thought of my locker. My eyes searched for Reese in the crowded hallways. My father hadn't bothered to assign me a scribe or an aid; thus condemning me to a long while of pure torture. My original conclusion came back to me; I, Marilyn Jackson, well and truly hate my father.

Conclusion #7: I hate my life.

Well, there you go. I've another conclusion. God, my life is so incredibly screwed up. Finally, I spotted a moving head of frizzy red hair moving among the crowd. I sagged in relief. Finally. Thank the Lord.

"Reese!" I called. "Reese!" A few people gave me strange looks; I did look a bit like Carrie in one of those horror movies. A flush came to my face as I remembered Jenny's disapproving face as she dressed me this morning. I hated being useless.

Reese turned, her bright blue eyes searching. They landed on me, and instead of skimming past as they had done with so many other students, they rested on my state. Her mouth dropped, making a perfect 'o'. She started to hurry toward me.

"What the hell?" she said, panting when she got to me. School hallways could be quite vicious sometimes, I thought, gazing around me. Red lockers lined the hallways, and the sickly fluorescent light gleaned on them. "You're in a wheelchair, Marilyn!"

"I know," I said helplessly. I bit my lip. "Can you- can you help me?"

Reese's eyes studied me, passing over my helpless frame. She gave a sigh of resignation. "Of course I'll help you, Lynnie," she said with a sad smile. "Gods, what did you do to yourself? First suspension, now immobilization-"

I shrank back. "ADHD. I- kind of fell off the side of my house." _God, that sounded so pathetic_, I thought. _Falling off the side of my house. I'll really need a better explanation than _that_. Will's never going to let me hear the end of it._

Reese just stared at me. "You know what? I am going to save myself from the details of that story by pretending that you had a skiing accident. That is a much better excuse. I'm telling you to use it."

"It is far more plausible, isn't it?" I said with a wry smile. "Thinking I had a skiing unfortunateness rather than plunging to my death off an ivy vine." I made a face. "Treacherous things, ivy vines, you know. If I ever live to see my adult years and buy a house, I vow to never purchase one with an ivy vine. God forbid I ever construct one on my house." I shuddered.

Reese just gave an exasperated sigh as she knelt by my locker. "It's a wonder you've lived this far. Of all the stupid things you could do, you jump off the side of your house."

"I did not jump!" I said indignantly. "Just- climbed unintelligently." I yawned tiredly. The dream had not come for me while I had been heavily sedated. After returning home, I had not let sleep claim me. Instead, I laid on my back, gazing up at the ceiling.

I had unwisely let my thoughts wander. More than once, I had come to the topic of family- and grandparents. Gran and Gramps had both visited me at the hospital, though they hadn't stayed. I couldn't blame them, really. I would hate me too if I were them. I was a despicable human being.

Reese rose with a stack of binders. "Where should I put these?" she asked.

"In my backpack, if you could," I said, gesturing to the back of the wheelchair. My face burned with shame. In all reality, I had done this to myself, by trying to escape. Not for the first time in my life, I hadn't cared if I ran away. I really hated my life that much. And, in this moment, I hated myself.

"Alright," Reese sighed, and I felt a slight pressure as the books were loaded into my backpack. "Gods, Lyn."

"I know," I sighed. "I hate my life. It sucks."

"Only because you make it suck," Reese said.

I snorted. "Don't get Confucius on me, Reese Winters."

"Excuse me?" Reese crossed her arms. "Who the _hell _is Confucius?"

"A Chinese philosopher," I explained. "He believed in the simple way of doing things- without complication. If one were to imitate Confucius, they would probably say something along the lines of 'Confucius say- oh, I don't know- man who reads fortune cookie need a reality check'. It's a pretty popular joke to regard a simple way of looking at things."

Reese stared at me blankly. "I have never once heard that joke in my life, Lyn."

"Come on, I'm not being nerdy here! Confucius is a really popular philosopher! He's right up there with Socrates, Pluto, Hippocrates- maybe even Archimedes, though he's more of a scientist, what with the 'do not disturb my circles'. Confucius was executed for his beliefs! I'm not the only person who doesn't know this!" My voice had risen in pitch.

Reese blinked. "I'm sorry, I lost you somewhere around 'Confucius is a really popular philosopher'. What did all of that even mean? That bit with circles? You're not even human anymore, Marilyn! A normal thirteen year old girl does not think about long dead wacko philosophers."

I glared at her. "I am _not _a nerd. Pay attention in History class and you would know this! I am not abstract for knowing who Boadicea was, or Hannibal, or what the time era 'Elizabethan' is. Regardless of what you may say, those are very common things!"

"Oh, my gods," Reese said. I started to wheel myself in the direction of Mrs. Bridge's class. "What does any of that even mean? You're always spouting off these random pieces of information that no one cares about!"

"I do! In fact, I very much care about things that you may not care about. I find the fact that the struggle of Brittany in the early medieval ages, perhaps even in the shadow of the Dark Ages, in regard to the French very interesting! What if I find you weird that you aren't interested in that, hmm?"

Reese shook her head. "I have no words."

"That's right, and you shouldn't!" I said. We were back to our usual routine- me winning debates with my random stubbornness, her shaking her head. "Most people are interested to know about King Henry VIII and his making of an entirely new religion just so that he could divorce his wives and make a new heir to the throne! Many people are interested to know that Queen Mary of Scotland was betrothed to the Dauphin of France, and was actually more French that Scottish! I will have you know that I am not insane for knowing this!"

Reese squeezed her eyes shut. "It's before eight o' clock in the morning and you're already making my head hurt, Lyn."

"Rightfully so," I said, my nose upturned. We had arrived at Bridge's classroom, and I swallowed painfully. "Do you think I'll have to write anything?"

"I doubt it," Reese said. "Bridge thinks you walk on water, Lyn. She won't make you write your own notes when you're hurt."

"She thought I walked on water," I corrected. "Now she thinks I'm a threat to human beings."

"You are to middle-schools, at least," Reese muttered. At my look, she threw up her hands. "I'm just saying that naivety should be preserved. We should not have to know about the dolphin of France."

I snickered. "I think you mean Dauphin."

"That's what I said." Reese glared at me, challenging me to test the verity of her statement. I merely shrugged. Silence was often the greatest form of argument- and the wisest, once it came to Reese.

I wheeled myself into the room, and Mrs. Bridge looked up at me. She did a double take, her eyes dilating. "Miss Jackson! What happened?"

"I-," I began, but seeing a look from Reese, I quickly changed tactic. "I-uh- had a skiing accident." The words sounded faux, even to my ears, and I cringed inwardly. I was a terrible liar.

Thankfully, Bridge didn't catch it; she simply looked at me with pity. "Alright, dear. I'll have Henry write everything for you."

Oh, shit. I was screwed. There was no way under the sun that slacker Henry was doing anything for me. I forced a smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Bridge."

I settled myself at my desk, and Reese began to say something. "Hey, Lyn- I really need to talk to you. It's important."

"Sure," I said slowly. "Anything-"

A high-pitched voice interrupted the conversation. "Oh, my gods, Will! Just _shut up_ for once in your life!" I turned to see an extraordinarily beautiful girl gazing at Will with absolute loathing. She had long caramel hair that lay loose, waving gently down her back like mine never had. Dark almond eyes stood out from her face above gently sloping cheekbones. She managed to pull off the uniform in a way that no girl at the school ever had- blondes were simply _not _meant to wear yellow- but still. This girl made it look like the cover design for some top-notch magazine.

"You should go tell Newman you're here, Sissy," Will said, making no effort to mask his distaste. "Theo and Dom both did. You're just being stubborn."

"I am not being stubborn, I simply feel no need to reiterate what Mr. Newman doubtless knows! I do not fancy repeating myself, William, and I shall not if I do not wish to do so," she said, a slight lilt coming into her voice. It had almost a British quality to it. God, I hated this girl. Elegant and beautiful. Ugh.

"You're slipping into Brit talk again," Will said exasperatedly, as if this happened often. "You don't go to boarding school in London anymore, Sissy. No need to talk like you've just exited the pages of a Jane Austen novel."

"'_It is not what we say or think that defines us, but what we do_'," Sissy sniffed. "Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen. I think you could use a bit of sense right around now, William."

Oh, God. Now I wanted to slap the smirk off that girl's face. I had a photographic memory; I knew that quote. She looked so damn smug. Will just made a face. "Superiority is not an attractive trait, Sissy. However you managed to accomplish that in your household of perfectly nice people, I will never know."

"My name is not Sissy, William!" Sissy said angrily. "I will have you call me by Selene. It is much better-sounding, and polite besides."

"You know what," Will finally said. "I want you to meet someone." He started to march over to me, and my face contorted in horror. _Oh, God_, I thought desperately. That son of a biscuit. Jesus Christ, I really just said son of a biscuit. My sanity should be tested. I'm getting more senile by the minute. When his eyes fell on mine, he visibly blanched.

"Dear gods, woman. What in Hades did you do to yourself?" he said.

"Did you really just say 'what in Hades'? If so, I believe you need a trip back to Archimedes' time," I said, shooting a glare at Reese. "You know who Archimedes is, right? 'Do not disturb my circles'? Greatest inventor of all Greek mythology?" I was sure I would be triumphant in this one. I had to be.

Will smirked triumphantly at Selene's look of utter bewilderment. "Sissy, meet the most annoying girl that I have ever met, Marilyn. Marilyn, meet my infinitely horrible cousin, Sissy. I'm sure you girls will have a lot in common."

"Oh, come on!" I complained. "Archimedes is not an obscure reference! You're all ignorant, the lot of you! Next you'll be telling me you haven't the slightest idea who Mary Astell is!"

Selene stared at me as if I had grown horns. "Excuse me, but what on Earth are you speaking of?"

"Don't worry," Reese grumbled. "We all reach that statement sooner or later with her."

My face contorted. "God! I am not insane, all of you! Mary Astell is the first English feminist! If Selene went to school in London, she ought to know that!"

Selene made a strangled cry of outrage. "I know plenty! I guarantee with all of your blunder, you don't know the legend of Beowulf!"

I rolled my eyes. "That's what you have to challenge me? Puh-lease. God, everyone knows about that. The story of the warrior challenging and defeating Grendel? It's ridiculous. I never did like that epic."

"I just knew they would get along," Will said to Reese, rubbing his hands together in delight. "Babbling on like the nerds they are."

"I am not a 'nerd'," Selene said, sniffing in distaste. She seemed to do that a lot. "I am a highly cultured woman."

"Gods," Reese muttered. "All of you need to move to Scandinavia, or something, at least until lunchtime. I can't handle tales of Bo the wolf and Grind before I've had the chance to wake up. I'm on coffee deprivation, all of you. Be kind to my troubled soul."

"I'm sorry," Selene said, "but exactly who are you?" The tone of the question was decidedly rude, and I glared at Selene. I hated her with a passion at this point. Challenging me. The nerve of some people.

"My name is Reese Veronica Winters," Reese said. "What do you want me to call you? 'Highly cultured woman'? 'Sissy'? 'Selene'? Or, you know, I've got the best one yet: 'Brit snot'. Yes, I think that'll do."

"How dare you?" Selene's nostrils flared as we all suppressed bouts of laughter. "Who do you think you are?"

"Oh, dear," Reese said, mimicking Selene's accent. "I thought we've been over this. My name is Reese Veronica Winters. Don't worry, these things just come a bit slower to some than others."

I snickered. Selene glared at her. "I am quite schooled, I will have you know. I went to a boarding school in London, and am extraordinarily schooled in all subjects. You are a hypocrite for saying otherwise."

Oh, that was going too far. Selene was playing the money card. That was a bitchy thing to do. Even Will had made a face at the comment. "God, you really don't shut up, do you?" I snapped. "Playing down on people? When do you realize you've crossed the line, Miss Selene? Or do you not realize there is one?"

Selene arched an eyebrow. "There is only a line to be crossed for those who have need of restraint," she said delicately. "I suggest practicing the exercise yourself, Miss Marilyn."

I flushed angrily as another voice came from behind Selene. "Gods, making friends already, are we, Sissy?"

A boy stepped out from behind Selene. He had a mop of curly brown hair- Crayola® would have described it as 'sepia'. His coffee brown skin set off his grin, and though he was about an inch shorter than Selene, he made up for it in personality. It almost seemed to radiate off of him. I recognized the air well- a troublemaker aura.

"Shut it, Theo," Selene said. "I thought you were supposed to be with Mr. Newman."

Theo shrugged. "Mr. Newman's not there."

"What did you do, Theo?" Will sighed.

"Why do you always assume that I did something?" Theo demanded. At Will's look of disbelief, he gave in. "Well- I may have rigged Newman's chair to spring up thumbtacks as he sat down, making a really uncomfortable sitting place, but other than that, nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"You rigged Mr. Newman's chair?" I said disbelievingly. "You do realize there are security cameras, right?"

"Oh, Theo does not care a bit for being caught," Selene said with obvious distaste. "Little bastard."

"Charming sister," Theo said cheerfully. "Who're you?" he asked me.

"My name is Marilyn," I said. "Do you know who Archimedes is?"

"Sure," Theo said. "Famous Greek engineer. He's like my idol."

"Ha!" I shouted. "There! I am not a nerd who makes obscure references! I am a high functioning eighth-grade girl who does her research in history class! I have triumphed over you, mortals! Bow down to my greatness!"

Theo furrowed his eyebrow. "Is she always like this?"

"Always," Reese said with a sigh. "Don't even get her _started _on Confucius. She will never let it go. _Never_."

"Who the hell is Confucius?" Theo said.

"You make me despair, Theo!" I wailed. "I was in my moment of triumph! Confucius say ignorant boy make girl despair!"

"Crazy lady say what now?" Theo said to no one in particular.

"She's a psychopath," Reese said. "She's finally cracked."

"I am not a psychopath, I am a highly functioning fangirl!" I said fervently.

"Seriously? I know you did _not _just pull the fangirl card," Reese said. "I pity the poor soul who becomes your husband. You're honestly just going to marry one of your fictional characters."

I narrowed my eyes. "Will Herondale and I are meant to be together! I scorn you for thinking otherwise. I have many fictional men at my beck and call, I will have you know."

"Oh, my gods," Selene said with wonder. "You really are an insolent groupie, aren't you?"

Oh, my God. I wanted to kill that girl. "'_Hypocrite_'," I coughed delicately into my unharmed arm. I smirked at her look of outrage. Honestly, that girl was so easy to offend.

"Am I missing something here?" Theo said. "I seem to have walked on into a decidedly strange exchange."

"They're all strange with Lynnie," Reese said. "We eventually reach the conclusion that we are all lost when Lynnie starts talking books and philosophers. She is a girl genius, I'm telling you."

I reddened. Will just gave a sigh of resignation. "Can't she move a grade above and leave us in peace then? I don't need to know who old philosophers are, or who William Herondale is- though I daresay he has some likeness to my wonder."

Oh, he did _not _just go there. "William is much finer than you will ever be!" I exclaimed. "You stupid, stupid boy!"

"Marilyn, for the love of gods, shut it," Reese said. "You are not going to win the fangirl conversation. Why? Because it should never happen in the first place, that's why."

"You scorn me!" I said.

There was a clacking noise of Mrs. Bridge's heels as she walked to the front of the room, stingy personality and all. She surveyed us all cryptically, her eyes coming to rest on Selene and Theo. Bridge clapped her hands together.

"Alright!" she called. "It seems as if we have some more new students- again."

Heads swiveled to look at us. I flushed, and Henry yawned, resting his face on his desk. With a start, I realized I had never heard what Reese meant to say. A guilty feeling settled in my stomach. I frowned apologetically at Reese, who just shrugged.

Selene glared at me. Boy, I had a bone to pick with that girl. She was a stuck-up bitch; that was for sure. Goddamn her for insulting Reese. I hadn't exactly handled it diplomatically, but I couldn't be expected to exercise restraint with her. She was in a class all by herself.

I wondered how she was related to Will. They didn't even look a little alike; in fact they were decidedly different. While Will had the look of a Native American with his coffee skin and dark brown hair, that girl looked almost English or Irish, with that caramel hair, pale skin, and gentle spattering of freckles.

"Today is Monday, notes-taking day," Bridge announced, bringing me out of my reverie. I winced. Dammit. "Please get out a sheet of loose-leaf."

I looked over at Henry, who was snoring faintly.

I hated my life.

* * *

REESE'S POV

**I opened the door to my house with a sigh.**

Selene Valdez. The stupid little snot had been in every single one of my classes. She had regarded both Marilyn with a fierce hatred and me with a cold, detached amusement. Gorgeous and sharp. I remembered Will's comment from earlier in the day, about Selene being the only mean one in her family.

I was charged with a strange desire to meet her family. That girl was seriously screwed up and _mean_. It was not often that I found someone truly mean- trying of patience, maybe, or snotty, but I had never actually hated someone that much.

Besides that, I had never gotten around to telling Marilyn the truth. On March 11, this Friday, I was leaving for Camp Half-Blood. I would leave and never see my family or friends again. I would leave and become someone different. And that, to me, was not fair. Unfortunately, I had come to realize that reality sucked and was nowhere near fair.

Life, in general, sucked.

"Hey," Mom said, wiping her floury hands on her apron. She looked more tired than normal- her hair seemed to be streaked with more grey, and there were purplish smudges under her eyes. Probably a result of me; her only daughter deserting her and all.

"Hey," I said wearily.

Mom bit her bottom lip. "You should probably start packing."

_I know, _I thought. _I don't want to go_. "Yeah. Sure," I said with fake cheerfulness.

"Have you told Marilyn yet?" Mom asked, busying herself with something over the stove. It was bubbling and steaming, filling the air with a charred, unpleasant scent. I wrinkled my nose in distaste. Mom was good at many things, but cooking wasn't one of them.

"Ugh, what is this?" I said, peering over the edge of the pot. A brownish sludge that somewhat resembled animal droppings was inside. Every once in a while, a thick, greasy bubble would pop, sending drops of liquid dangerously close to my nose.

"It's supposed to be baked beans," Mom said wistfully. "You didn't tell Marilyn, did you?"

"That doesn't look at all like baked beans. That looks like food poisoning," I told my mother truthfully. "And- no. I didn't tell her."

"Reese," Mom said with a warning note in her voice.

"What?" I said, shifting uncomfortably. "Don't blame me. Blame Selene Valdez."

Mom dropped her wooden spoon. "_What_?" she yelped, a look of utter terror on her face. I would have laughed, but the circumstances of having the last few days in my home had sealed my lips shut.

"Uh- Selene Valdez," I said. "Pretty girl. Brit bitch- uh, I mean, snotty girl," I corrected at my mother's livid look. "A little petite, caramel hair, dark eyes- know her?"

Mom squeezed her eyes shut and turned towards the ceiling. "Is this some sort of sick joke?" she shouted. "You unbelievable _bastards_?" She picked up the wooden spoon and threw it at the ceiling. "This isn't funny!"

Thunder rumbled in the distance, though the sky was clear and sunny outside. I shivered uncomfortably, wondering if Mom had gone insane. It seemed that Selene Valdez was another puzzle piece in this unbelievably complex equation.

"This isn't _funny_!" Mom screamed at the ceiling. "I've done _everything you asked me to! I left for a reason! I left when things fell apart! You can't do this to me!_" She was in hysterics now, and I slowly backed away. "I left for a reason! You're taking her away from me and tearing apart the whole _damn world! Leave us alone!_"

"Mom…" I said slowly.

"It's not _fair_!" she shrieked. "I spent _seven damn years holed up in that camp_! You can't do this to me!"

Thunder rumbled again, and storm clouds were moving in. The first few drops of rain began to pitter on the windowsill, and I felt a lump in my throat. This was unbelievably scary. Mom had lost it. Physically and completely lost it.

"_Goddamn you! Goddamn all of you!_" Mom's face was red, and she was shaking her shoulders. She never looked smaller, or more fragile. She looked like a reed, about to be blown away on the wind. "This isn't _fair_!"

"Do not test my patience, Rachel Elizabeth Dare," a voice said. It seemed to ring out everywhere, though I couldn't pinpoint the source of it.

"My name is Rachel Winters!" Mom shouted, slamming her hand down on the granite countertops.

_Holy shit, _I thought. I widened my eyes as a crack of lightning hit the tree outside our window, collapsing it on our front lawn. I stared in awe as the charred mass of wood collapsed onto the grass, setting the green reeds ablaze. Smoke billowed up from the tree, and my ears rang from the sharp crack.

Mom collapsed then, sinking against the cabinets. Sobs overtook her, racking her frame. They tore through her body violently, and though I knew there was a fire in my front yard, and a burning pot of baked beans on the stove, I simply stood there, dumbfounded. Rain poured in a torrential downpour, and there was the hiss of a flame slowly going out.

I'm not sure how long it was before the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, and the rain stopped, slowly and then altogether. I'm not sure how long it was before the sirens finally entered my hearing, and there was a man rushing through our house, calling Mom 'ma'am' and asking if she was alright. I'm not sure how long it was before I was told that I was in shock, the voices ringing around me. I'm not sure how long it was before Dad found Mom and I, sitting in our neighbor's house, curled up weakly.

I'm not sure how long it was before I stopped thinking.

* * *

WILL'S POV

**"Holy Hephaestus," I muttered, looking out the window.**

The rain had been going on for some time now, tearing through our city on a downpour to be reckoned with. Piper, Caroline, Reid, Janie, and I were holed up in the basement along with the Valdez family. I was standing on a wooden-backed chair, peering up at the ground-level windows. All I could see at this point was a misty mass of raindrops pattering wildly against the grass.

"William, get down from that chair before you hurt yourself," Piper snapped. She was pacing the room wildly, her brown curls moving with her.

"I'm not going to hurt myself," I muttered, turning my attention back to the rain. It was better entertainment than what was going on in the room aside from the rain. Theo was sprawled out on the couch, taking a nap, while Selene was dutifully scripting her homework in her neat, precise cursive. Reid and Dominic were having a war with their Transformers ® toys, making explosion sounds with their mouths. Caroline was reading a book that looked like _Twilight_, I noted with disgust. I couldn't stand chick-flick books. Janie was on her phone, texting her friend and snickering. Phones were dangerous for third-graders. Uncle Leo and Aunt Calypso were in a heated conversation, and Piper, was, well, pacing. She was beginning to give me OCD.

"No, of course not," Selene snorted from her place on the couch.

I glared at her. "Shut it, Sissy."

"Mom!" Selene cried. "Will's calling me Sissy again!"

"Gee, that's mature," I muttered. "What are you, five?"

"William, stop," Piper said distractedly. "You're only provoking her."

"I am not!" I cried indignantly.

"He is too!" Selene insisted.

"Both of you, SHUT IT," Leo said firmly. "Piper is trying to think. Just shut your mouths for one second of your lives, if you _please_. Thank you."

"What are you even trying to think of?" I asked my mother. "It's just a downpour, for gods' sakes!"

"No, it's not," Piper said quietly. "He's angry with someone."

"Oh, bloody hell," Selene said.

"You see?" Leo said to Calypso. "This is what we get when we send our daughter off to London! Not finery, not manners, we get English swears!"

"Language, Selene," Calypso chided, firmly ignoring her husband.

"Who's angry with who?" Caroline finally said, peeking her head up from her sappy book. "Did I miss something here?"

"Zeus, or Jupiter," Piper told her daughter. "He's angry with someone."

"That's insanity. Just because it's a storm doesn't necessarily mean that Jupiter is having a temper tantrum," I said.

"Will's right," Leo said. "Storms don't automatically mean that somebody ticked Jupiter off. You're being paranoid, Piper."

"No, I'm not," Piper argued. "I have a hunch. Trust me on this one."

"_'Reality is nothing but a collective hunch_," Selene sang. "Lily Tomlin. Hunches don't necessarily mean automatic intuition."

Piper frowned at Selene. "_Intuition often saves us from disaster,_" she quoted. "Anne Wilson Shae. I can play the quoting game too, Selene, and I promise you will not like who the victor will be."

"_The difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its 'limit'_," I said, enjoying myself. "Albert Einstein. I like this quoting game. Much better than stupid _Twilight _or any of those other books that Carrie reads."

"Hey!" Caroline protested. "Stop dissing my books! You know nothing!"

"Oh, pardon me," I said with mock severity. "Please, return to your sparkly vampires."

Leo choked on his cup of water.

"Don't encourage them, Leo," Piper muttered, still distracted. "They'll only get worse."

"Are you kidding me? This is great!" Leo said, rubbing his hands together. "And here I thought we'd be bored! I've got sparkly vampires!"

Caroline glared at us. "Honestly. _Twilight _is not my favorite book."

"Then what is, pray tell?" I said, mimicking Selene's fake British accent. "You know what, you should meet Marilyn. She'll give you a run for your money on any debate. Selene will tell you."

Selene shot daggers at me. "Just because Miss Smarty Pants knows about Beowulf does not make her a genius."

"Be a who?" Leo asked. "Am I the only one who is confused here?"

"Oh dear," Calypso said, massaging her temples.

"That's not all!" I continued. "Marilyn started talking about all these dead people, like Confu-something, and Hippo, and Mary Stell, and-"

"You are not getting a single one right! It's Confucius, Hippocrates, and I think something like Mary Astell," Selene corrected me, her face growing red.

Even Calypso looked confused. "Alright, I know Confucius and Hippocrates, but who on Earth is Mary Astell?"

"Who knows?" I said gleefully. "She also said something about Archie!"

"Archimedes," Selene grumbled.

"Archimedes?" Leo said, sitting up straight. "Did someone say Archimedes?"

"Aw, c'mon, guys," Theo moaned from the couch. "You got him started on Archimedes. Now he'll never stop. I was _trying _to take a nap here, you know!"

"Shut it, Theo," Piper said. "In fact, all of you, _shut up_."

"Oh, no," Leo said, his eyes alight with a fierce curiosity. "I want to hear more about this Marilyn girl."

Caroline grinned, getting an evil glint in her eyes. _Oh, shit, _I thought. Revenge had come for me in the form of a vengeance-hungry older sister. "Well, she's very pretty, and Will has a huge crush on her-"

I stepped down from the chair, my eyes livid. "That is _not _true! I do _not _have a crush on Marilyn Jackson!"

Calypso paled. "This girl's name is Marilyn Jackson?"

"Yes. Daughter of Percy and Annabeth Jackson and all that jazz, though I'm not sure why that's even remotely relevant. Anybody care to shed some light on the situation?" I asked hopefully.

For once, the room was completely silent. Somewhere, there was the crack of lightning, and we all jumped.

"Hell no," Leo finally said. "There's no way in hell I'm gonna be the one to tell that story. Hell no."

"Leo, language," Calypso said quietly.

I looked over at Caroline, who shook her head imperceptibly. _No. Don't tell them what I told you_. The words were on the tip of my tongue, just waiting to be spoken. Hunching my shoulders in resolve, I ignored my sister's protests.

"What about the _Argo II_?" I asked calmly. Somewhere in the back of my head, alarms were ringing, reverberating around my cerebral complex. That was not a question that I should be asking in this cream-colored television room with a storm raging outside. Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew this, and yet I disobeyed Caroline and virtually everyone's wishes by asking those works. What about the _Argo II._ I shivered.

The words had the effect of a grenade.

Piper froze in her pacing, Leo widened his eyes, and Calypso looked like she was about to have a cardiac arrest. Caroline slunk down further into her book, no doubt trying to insert herself into the pages of sparkly vampires even further. I shivered, noticing the room had dropped at least ten degrees.

"What do you mean, the _Argo II_?" Selene asked, her eyes slitted.

"Will, when did you hear that?" Piper asked, her voice shaking. Our basement was a poker room of sorts, with a large, wraparound couch. At the moment, her fingers were clutched tightly on the edge of the couch, her knuckles white.

"So they were on the _Argo II_," I said triumphantly. "I was right."

"Will, answer the question," Leo said, his skin the color of newly made ashes.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" I said quietly. "To be so left in the dark?"

"William, listen to me very carefully," Piper said. "What you are talking about is better left alone. Trust me on this one."

"No, actually, I won't! I want to know this!" I said, persisting.

"Will," Caroline hissed.

"No. I'm sick of this. I want to know who Percy Jackson is." I glared at Piper.

Piper squeezed her eyes shut. "You do, do you?" She let out a bitter laugh. "That's the thing. You think you do, but you really don't."

"I have no patience for oxymoron sentences," I said impatiently. "Who. Is. Percy. Jackson?"

Piper looked tired then. The bluish smudges above her cheekbones seemed more prominent, the worry lines by her eyes bigger. Finally, Piper spoke, in a slow, precise fashion.

"Reid, Dominic, Janie, go away, please," Piper said. "I need to talk with the older kids."

"What?" Janie whined.

"Now," Calypso said, her eyes darting back and forth anxiously. "Piper's right."

With some grumbling, the younger boys and Janie shuffled out of the room into the game room to the left. I watched Piper carefully. Leo and Calypso stared apprehensively at her, and the corner of her mouth twitched, as if recalling memories.

"What I am about to tell you is to be repeated to no one," Piper said slowly. "Is that understood?"

"Yes," we chorused.

"Not at camp, not at school, and _especially _not to Marilyn. She will find out who she is in her own time," Calypso said, her voice clearly brooking no argument. "Is that clear?"

Another chorus of yeses rang around the room in unison. Leo looked as if he were about to become sick- his skin had a decidedly greenish tinge to it. Calypso and Piper didn't look much better; they were squirming in their seats.

"Alright," Piper finally said. "I'll do it. I'll tell them." She took a deep breath, and I settled down on the couch. This was a story that I wanted to hear.

This was the story of Percy Jackson, after all.

* * *

PIPER'S POV

**"Percy Jackson."**

The words felt bitter on my tongue, as if they were made of ash. Every syllable stung, bringing forth barrage after barrage of unwanted memories. They overtook me, and I fell into a lapsed silence. There was no easy way to speak what I wanted.

"Okay," I said, exhaling. "Okay."

"Percy Jackson was a boy," I began slowly. This was it. The story that they had been waiting to hear. The story of Percy Jackson.

"A twelve year old boy, to be exact. A twelve year old boy with a knack for getting into sticky situations- he had been expelled from nearly every school that he attended since preschool. And, one day, in New York's Yancy Academy, they found him.

"Chiron and Grover Underwood, a centaur and satyr. They found the son of Poseidon at a rehabilitation school for troubled preteens. Chiron presented himself under the alias of Mr. Brunner, a Latin teacher. Grover was a student.

"We have all heard of the Pact of the Big Three. Needless to say, both Poseidon and Zeus- or Neptune and Jupiter, take your pick- failed to uphold the agreement. Thus, the job of Camp Half-Blood was thrust upon Perseus Jackson.

"Percy was attacked by one of the Furies when he was at school, and again by the Minotaur on his way to camp." I smiled sourly. "I could tell you no end of stories that Percy Jackson went through after the fateful day he walked through that barrier. He took a dip in the River Styx. He battled the titan Kronos and triumphed. Percy saved Camp Half-Blood, time after time. And, of course, he killed numerous giants and triumphed over Gaea on the _Argo II_.

"He had one girl to help him accomplish everything he went through, from jumping off the St. Louis Arch to going to the Underworld to retrieve Zeus's master bolt. He held the world on his shoulders for this girl. Percy fell into Tartarus for this woman. He would have given his life for her. This girl- she was everything to him. Absolutely everything." I looked around at the children's stunned faces. I was close to tears. These were my friends, my irreplaceable mates, my chums. I would never got them back.

"This girl's name was Annabeth Chase. She was brave, she was smart, she was gorgeous, and very, very stubborn. They met when they were twelve years old. Annabeth was not only Percy's love- she was also his best friend.

"Percy proposed to Annabeth when she was twenty years old- about two and a half years after the defeat of Gaea. Annabeth was still in college, mind you- but said yes anyway. She was so happy. So unbelievably happy," I said, her voice catching.

She remembered the day that Annabeth had called Piper from where she was studying at Yale. Annabeth had been so giddy, her voice so upbeat and happy- the gladdest that Piper had ever seen her. They had dinner that night, and Annabeth had been shining. Her grey eyes had been so full of life, so full of love.

Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes. It was so funny that tears stung- it was as if the universe was taunting you by adding even more pain. I wiped them away, taking in a ragged breath. Will looked stunned, and Caroline looked sick. Selene looked fascinated, while Theo appeared as if he had been kicked in the stomach. Leo resembled his son, while Calypso was crying. I hunched my shoulders in resolve. I couldn't stop now.

"They were married when Annabeth was twenty one. After she graduated," I said, my voice catching. "I was a bridesmaid. Both Annabeth and Percy were the happiest people in the world. They looked as if the apocalypse would appear and they wouldn't care because they had each other. That's the way it was with them. It didn't matter whether they were injured, or sick, or poor, it just mattered that they were together. They had been like that since they were twelve." I took in a shaky breath. "Just together."

I remembered the wedding day. Annabeth had looked so beautiful in her gown of silk and pearls, her grey eyes popping from under the mass of beautiful, golden curls. Percy had been so handsome in his tuxedo, his green eyes searching. His tan skin had stood out from his muscular frame, his entire body rigid from anxiety.

He had never stopped looking for Annabeth in the crowd, trying to pick out the beautiful bride. I recalled clearly the look on his face when she appeared at the doors, led in by her father. She had smiled, and it seemed to light up the whole room. The entire ceremony, they never took their eyes off each other. A tear streaked down my cheek.

"Percy was a marine biologist. For a time, they lived in Nantucket. Percy studied marine biology, while Annabeth was studying to become a professor at MIT. They owned a tiny little seaside cottage- a little white thing, right on the beach. They used to have picnics almost every day, sitting out there on their blanket. I never saw two happier people in my life." I was crying now, the sobs coming in short bursts. A tear leaked out of Caroline's eye.

I remembered that cottage. I came to visit often, finding refuge in Annabeth's study of books upon books and Percy's collection of marine biology samples cluttering his workspace. The cottage had been so beautiful- small, but pretty, with a little gate and fence, and its own private beach. I had woken up one morning to find Annabeth and Percy eating breakfast on the beach, walking along the waves.

"Then, when Annabeth was twenty-two, something magical happened. The beautiful girl behind the wedding dress discovered she was pregnant. Both Percy and Annabeth were ecstatic. If at all possible, their life got even happier. They bought every little thing- Annabeth used to drag me along to all sorts of stores with you, Caroline," I said, pointing to my daughter. "She would choose the cutest little outfits. I would walk in on her, every once in a while, reading a book and sometimes staring out at the ocean. She was so worried that she wouldn't be a good mother." I let out a gasp. "She was. Oh, my gods, she was."

I hugged myself tightly. Annabeth. Sweet, sweet Annabeth, stubborn as a mule and the world to Percy. My entire body shook. My heart felt heavy in my chest, as if weighed down by some unseen burden. Annabeth and Percy.

"The baby was born on May fourteenth, in the Boston hospital. Percy was worried out of his mind, but both Annabeth and the baby- Marilyn- were healthy, and happy. Percy never left Annabeth's side. Not once. He almost got sick," I said, laughing weakly, "but never left her side. They were together. That's all that mattered."

I remembered visiting them in the hospital. They had posed for a picture that I took- Percy, at Annabeth's side in the hospital bed. Percy had his arms wrapped protectively around his wife and daughter, grinning like a maniac, while Annabeth had a tired but happy smile on. Marilyn had been sleeping, tucked into a mass of blankets. I still had the picture.

"Annabeth was twenty-three when Marilyn was born. For a time, they were happy, living in their little cottage by the sea. Marilyn was a natural swimmer; she quickly learned to breathe underwater. Annabeth phoned me up the day that she found out that Marilyn had her father's powers. Marilyn had made the water bottle next to Annabeth explode when Annabeth was trying to feed Marilyn squash," I said, recalling the memory as clearly as if it were yesterday. "Two years. That was all they had."

I stopped, sobbing. Memories flitted around my brain- Annabeth cradling Marilyn when she was visiting my house, Percy with his arm snagged around his wife's waist at their wedding, them walking along the shores of Nantucket, flowers falling on their heads, catching in their hair, as they kissed for the first time as husband and wife. They were such good people. It was so cruel that the worst things always happened to the best people.

I took a deep breath, afraid to look to see reactions. I had to keep going. This was the worst part, remembering Annabeth's death. "Annabeth and Percy were head counselors at Camp Half-Blood the year that Marilyn turned two. Marilyn was already accepted into the camp as a part of life- she was loved by all and everyone." This was it. This was the worst part.

"That was when Thalia's pine tree failed, that year. The year that the gods lost control because of the Sphinx's attack on Mount Olympus. The night that her pine tree fell, temporarily disabling the protective barrier of the camp. Monsters stormed it, killing and injuring so many people. Just- so many.

"Percy was off fighting, as was Annabeth. Or, at least, it was, until the leader of the monsters and the rampage, the Sphinx, decided to go after Marilyn.

"Annabeth used the power of all children of Athena, the forbidden power. She used her mind power to kill the Sphinx- but it killed her in the process. She gave up her own life for her daughter's."

The room was deathly silent save for the sound of my own crying.

"The aftermath of that battle was horrible. Per-Percy retreated into his cabin. He didn't come out for three days. On the fourth morning, he came out of the camp." I bit my lip. This is where the story got ugly.

"Percy went on a rampage, unleashing his rage and terror and pent-up emotions onto the river. I was there. I know. The hurricane and storm that followed was terrible- it destroyed what little was left of Camp Half-Blood. He hurt several people badly- and was removed from the legends. A bad apple. Percy Jackson was banned from the camp. He took his daughter with him."

I thought of the massive storm that he cooked up. It caused so much damage, and almost drowned several people. I remembered Percy's reaction when he saw Annabeth's dead body. He threw himself down, sobbing hysterically. He didn't let go for so long, holding onto the pretty girl in the white dress's body like it was a lifesaver. Like it was a preserver he would never get back.

Percy became a different man that day. He lost so much, and every time he looked at Marilyn's face, he was reminded of Annabeth- in the way she talked, in the way she moved, in the way she looked. Every time he looked at Marilyn, he saw Annabeth's dead body, sprawled out on the ground, the Sphinx next to him.

Marilyn was the trade-off he got. Percy was never the same.

"That was the last time I saw Percy Jackson before we came here. Percy Jackson is a man of many secrets, a man harboring grief for his wife that will forever be with him, a piece of him always. Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase were two people that- that-" I couldn't continue. My eyesight was blurred, and I was suddenly overtaken with bawling.

Annabeth. The beautiful girl in the beautiful dress. The smart, funny girl behind the book. The woman who gave her life for her daughter.

Percy. The handsome man in the handsome tuxedo. The smart, funny man behind the curl of the ocean wave. The man who was never the same after his world died.

Percy and Annabeth would never again be together in this life.

* * *

A/N: I hoped you guys enjoyed the end of this chapter. If you have any questions, please let me know. A lot regarding the attack will become clearer as the story progresses; so please don't ask questions about that.

I hoped this cleared some things up for you.

Until next chapter.


	14. Chapter 14: Ambrosia and Apologies

A/N: Hello! As I said back in Chapter Nine, I'm beginning to get into soccer season, so I may not update for a little longer than usual- hence my longest period of no updates. Sorry about that. This chapter is really long, though, so I hope you like it!

Just a note: another huge thanks to reviewers. You inspire me to continue this story. Thank you so much.

Here we go with chapter fourteen…

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

MARILYN'S POV

* * *

_I woke by the fountain._

_ Night had descended on the setting, leaving a bright, clear night staring down at me. Stars twinkled brightly above me, looking impassively at everything. A clear trickle of water, presumably from the fountain, sounded beside me, and somewhere in the distance, there were shouts of laughter. I laid on the ground, sprawled out awkwardly. _

_ There was a flicker of light in the distance, and I tried to sit up to see it better. Instantly regretting the poor choice, crying out in pain, I laid back down, letting the dirt chafe against my skin. My teeth chattered. I was freezing._

_ "Hello?" I called. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?"_

_ There was no reply, just a few crickets chirping and the gurgle of the water fountain. I groaned. Exhaustion had always seemed like a relative thing to me, but now there was a pungent possibility of actually fainting, I was so tired. It was as if I didn't sleep at all when I had these dreams. _

_ "Is anybody there?" I shouted again, my voice hoarse and scratchy._

_ A little boy peeked out from behind the fountain, his eyes wide. He couldn't have been more than seven years old at the most. A mop of messy, light brown hair almost completely obscured his eyes from view, and he smiled, an impish grin that revealed he had two front teeth missing. He was really cute, I thought. He had that mischievous little boy look that teachers hated and everyone else adored._

_ "Hi," I said weakly. "Do- can you get someone to help me?"_

_ He stared blankly at me. I sighed. _Please, God_, I thought, _let this little boy speak English._ "You do speak English, right?"_

_ "Yep," the boy said, smiling even wider. "My name's Puck."_

_ I snorted, unable to suppress a laugh. "Puck? Like in _A Midsummer Night's Dream_?" I recalled the play from a Shakespearean camp that I had taken some years ago. A little troublesome faerie, Puck, had been a main role in the play. I still remembered a few lines- _Then I shall be thy lady, for never since middle summer/spring…

_ Puck scowled at me. "Yeah. My dad thought it was funny."_

_ "Jesus. I must have some angst or something about names. Puck and Scylla- Jesus Christ," I said, laughing. If this was what was appearing in my dreams, then I needed to confront my father about Marilyn. I was evidently disgusted with the name._

_ Puck brightened visibly. "You know Scylla?"_

_ "I think she healed me or something last time I was here," I said. "Isn't she supposedly like the daughter of Hecate or something?"_

_ Puck widened his eyes. "Are you the girl everyone's talking about? The one who keeps disappearing and reappearing?"_

_ "Uh- I guess. This is only a dream, though, so not really," I said matter-of-factly. "My name is Lynnie, by the way."_

_ "Whoa," Puck breathed. "I gotta go get my dad. Wait here!" He dashed off, leaving a puff of dust in his wake._

_ "What the-" I started. I wasn't about to go anywhere anytime soon. At least it wasn't painful, laying here. I touched the necklace at the hollow of my throat, fingering the tiny grooves. If I kept up the habit much longer, there wouldn't be any more grooves to finger._

_ I looked over to my right, to the frilly house. It was pale pink, with lace curtains and a hot pink door. It looked like Barbie's dream house, except for a little larger, considering its inhabitants were probably not eight inches tall. That was just a guess, of course. This dream was getting weirder and weirder._

_ To the right of Barbie's dream house, there was a short structure. It looked like it belonged on _Little House on the Prairie_. It was made completely of dirt, except for the roof, which was thatched with some sort of vine-looking plant. In the front, there were all sorts of fruits, from lemon trees to blueberry bushes. _

_ To the left of Barbie's dream house, there was a tiny house. It was made of dark blue- I had no idea how they even did that. Silver lining gleamed in the moonlight, casting a shadow over the front of it. It had a more elegant, refined look than the other structures in the place._

_ "Puck, where is she?"_

_ I heard a voice, and did my best to turn. There was a tall, muscular, mildly good-looking man jogging toward me. He was pretty tall, with a definite figure and a strong, set jaw. "Where's the girl?" he said again. The man looked to be about the age of my father._

_ "Her name is Lynnie," Puck whined. "And she's right here." He pointed to me._

_ "Oh, gods," the man said, jogging over. "Are you okay?" he asked, kneeling at my side. He looked into my face, and stopped short. _

_ "I think so. It's just a dream, so it's okay," I said. The man whitened even further. "What?" I asked. "What's the matter?"_

_ "Nothing. Nothing at all," the man said, shaking his head. "My name is Travis. Oh, gods. Shit." He let out a brief, choked laugh. "Alright. Alright." He sighed. "I've got to get you to the infirmary. How long ago did you break these bones?" Travis gestured to my legs and right arm, which had braces and a cast._

_ "On Friday," I said sheepishly. "I jumped out of my house."_

_ Travis stopped short. "What?"_

_ "Yeah. I was trying to climb out of my window using the ivy vine, but it broke. I was grounded, and ADHD, so-" I shrugged helplessly. "Yeah. I got into a fight at school. There was a lot of damage, too, with water pipes and stuff, so it was kind of a crazy day."_

_ Travis paled even further. "Water pipes?"_

_ "Yep. And an electrical shortage. I blame it on Will," I said cheerfully. If this was a dream, I may as well make light of things. _

_ "Will?" Travis said, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. _

_ "Yes. Will Grace, I think. He's a bitch," I said with a grin. This was actually quite fun, just calling my mortal enemies names in my dream worlds. It just goes to show that this dream did have its upsides. I wouldn't be punished for swearing._

_ Travis made a strangled sound. "Puck- go get your mother. Now. And anybody else you can find. Tell them to go to the infirmary." _

_ Puck nodded obediently. "Okey-dokey." He ran off again, his brown hair flopping on his forehead._

_ Travis looked ill. "Okay. Lynnie- that's short for Marilyn, right?"_

_ "Yeah," I said slowly. "How did you know?"_

_ "A lucky guess," Travis said weakly, looking as if he were about to have a cardiac arrest. "Okay. So- can you walk?"_

_ "Oh, yeah," I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice. "I just like to put braces on for fun. It's not like my legs are immobilized or anything. Of course I can't walk!"_

_ Travis squeezed his eyes shut. "Okay. I'll carry you, then." He bent down and lifted me up. I emitted a yelp of pain as white sparks obscured my field of view. "Oh, sorry," he said, though it sounded distant and impassive._

_ "Ow," I managed in reply._

_ "Just hold in there. The Big House isn't that far away." Travis looked down at me. "You really don't remember this place, huh?"_

_ "What?" I asked, bewildered._

_ "You were only two, I guess," Travis mused, more to himself than me. _

_ "What are you talking about?" I said._

_ "Nothing. Forget I said anything," Travis said. "Just- don't disappear on me, okay? Everyone would roast me alive. Especially my wife." He made a face, though there was an expression of adoration in his eyes. "Yeah. Katie would kill me, so try to stay present, alright?"_

_ "I can't control it- at least, not yet. I am only in a dream, you know," I told him. "I really don't care about you becoming a pig roast. No offense- but you're only a figment of my imagination."_

_ "Really. You think this is a dream? How do you figure that, kid?" Travis said, a smile playing at the corners of his lips._

_ "Well, I once read this article on dreams. You see, the hippocampus- that's the area that stores memory- only keeps parts of memory that's relevant to day-to-day life. For example, it may keep the memory of your grocery list more pungent than some random plot line from a book that you don't like very much. Therefore, a lot of your prominent memories often show up in dreams, as dreams are a reflection of your inner thoughts, fears, and desires. So all of this is just some combination of everything that I've been thinking, worrying, and wanting lately- it's just explained in an unconventional, unorthodox way- much like _TheWizard of Oz_. _The Wizard of Oz _was actually intended to be an editorial government issue; it just placed in a fairyland. The wizard was supposed to be the government, hiding behind the curtain. So- when you get down to it, this is just my brain's fancy way of explaining my innermost thoughts," I explained._

_ Travis stared at me._

_ "What?" I asked, suddenly feeling defensive._

_ "Just- and then- holy shit, child," Travis said. "Just out of curiosity- how do you explain this dream?"_

_ "Well," I began, "We're learning about Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome right now in History. I'm probably stressing about the impending test set for next week, which leads to a lot of Greek content showing up in my dream. The forest and fleece probably represent the journey that I'm taking to study that. That's the first thought of the dream, as far as I can figure. You and Puck are the second. Puck probably represents the childhood that I never got, and you probably represent the loving father I never had. This is probably because my father is being even more of a bitch than usual, and I wouldn't be surprised if something regarding my mom comes up. All I know is her name, after all, and I only found that out a couple of days ago. So- yeah." I frowned. Dream or not, talking about my parental issues was not pleasant._

_ "Oh, my gods," Travis said with a laugh._

_ "What?" I asked for what seemed like the millionth time. "What is so terribly funny?"_

_ "You sound so much like someone I used to know," Travis said with a smile that looked painful. "It's almost a little scary, actually."_

_ "Who? What happened to this person?" I queried._

_ "She died," Travis said shortly. "And it doesn't matter what her name was."_

_ "Yes, it does!" I said indignantly._

_ "Not really. We're here," Travis said. "I'm just going to set you down right here and get Chiron and the others. I'll be right back." He set me down on a couch of sorts._

_ I sighed, taking into account my settings. I was staring up at a porch ceiling, with battered wood beams and wind chimes tinkling faintly. To my left, there were some porch embellishments- a railing and prairie-looking poles reaching up to the roof. Everything was painted a baby blue. I was set down on a wicker couch, which was none too comfortable. To my left, there was a screen door and something that looked like the beginnings of a wraparound porch. I winced as I tried to turn to see more clearly. Life sucked when you couldn't sit up._

_ There was a creak as the door swung open. A centaur came over by me, and I sniggered, unable to suppress the snigger. I really needed to work on my suppressing skills. "Are you Pinkie Pie?" I said between giggles, remembering the dream website. In my defense, I was in a lot of pain._

_ The centaur was really quite impressive. He towered over me, with a dark brown beard and stern face for his facial features. He had on a leather sort of vest, which was kind of ironic, seeing as how he was wearing the hide of one of his relations. He had the bottom of a tan stallion, and his tail flicked._

_ "Did she just call me Pinkie Pie?" the centaur asked._

_ "Uh- yeah," Travis said uncomfortably next to the centaur. "In her defense, Chiron, I think she's in a lot of pain."_

_ "Are you sure she's his daughter?" Chiron said, his mouth turned down. "She certainly looks the part, but-"_

_ "Her name is Marilyn. She had an 'accident' with water pipes the other day, and she says her father is a bitch- pardon my French, her words, not mine. She looks the part, like you said- and she talks exactly like her mother," Travis said. _

_ "My mother?" I sat up straight, instantly regretting it. "Ah- shit," I gritted out from my teeth. "See! There it is! I'm telling you, you're exactly following the dream structure! My mother is appearing, due to my recent discovery of her name. She is going to be a main focal point in the focus of my dream regarding the plot line which is relevant to daily life matters." _

_ Travis stared at Chiron pointedly. "Need any more proof?"_

_ "Possibly, though I admit you have a point," Chiron admitted. He clopped closer to me. "Child, what is that around your neck?"_

_ I pulled out my necklace. "Oh. This? I think it was my mom's. I stole it from my father's cabinet." I whitened. "Oh, damn. I hope I'm not talking in my sleep."_

_ "You're not sleeping, Marilyn," Chiron said tiredly. He turned to Travis. "It's her mother's necklace. Get her into the infirmary. Have Scylla treat her again. Marilyn may trust her more than any of the others."_

_ "It really is Marilyn?" _

_ A woman appeared by Travis's shoulder. She was pretty, and small, almost pixie-like. Clear green eyes peered at me curiously from behind a curtain of dark brown hair and a light spattering of freckles. She was wearing dark blue jeans and had a cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. I envied her. Freezing was not on my list of things to do in this dream, but here I was, doing precisely that._

_ "Yeah. It's Marilyn." Travis rubbed his face. "Take Puck back to the Legacy cabin, Katie."_

_ Katie put her hands on her hips and glared at Travis. "Don't tell me what to do." She walked over to me. "Are you okay?"_

_ "Just tired," I said. "Why are you people going to take me to the infirmary? I already have casts on." I gestured with my left hand to my braces and neon-green cast. _

_ Chiron gazed at me. "We're going to give you nectar and ambrosia. That should speed up the process of your healing."_

_ "It won't hurt, will it?" I asked anxiously._

_ "No," Katie said. "Just trust Travis and Chiron. Chiron always knows what he's doing."_

_ "What about me?" Travis said, looking miffed._

_ "Nobody's perfect, dear," Katie said, waving a hand. "Don't put it upon yourself."_

_ Travis scowled as I laughed. He looked so childish there. The expression was so foreign on a man older than thirty- I would die of pure shock if my father ever adorned it himself. I doubted my father had ever worn an expression like that, actually, even when he was a boy. It was hard to picture my father as a boy._

_ "Alright," I said slowly. I was willing to trust these people, though I hadn't the faintest idea why. After all, it was only a dream, I reasoned, so nothing truly horrid could happen to me. I tried to dispel the images of pine needles and dirt. Nothing could happen to me, I thought._

_ I just wish it were a more convincing thought._

_ "Go along, Travis. Stop stalling, if you will," Chiron said, not unkindly._

_ Travis raised his eyes to heaven and muttered something under his breath that sounded distinctly like 'duck'. Without realizing it, the corners of my mouth quirked up at the small gesture. I wished that this dream was real._

_ As Travis walked off, Chiron turned to Katie. "Katherine, a stretcher, if you please," Chiron requested. I watched in wonder as Katie did what he said immediately. Whomever this 'Chiron' character was (at this point, I was inclined to believe him to be the mythical trainer of heroes from Greek mythology), he obviously held a lot of power around here._

_ "Do you run this place?" I asked curiously. _

_ Chiron raised a bushy eyebrow. "Yes. I am director of Camp Half-Blood."_

_ "Camp Half-Blood," I repeated, rolling the words around on my tongue. They felt alien, strange, and yet- I felt almost a sense of de'ja'vu. As if I had heard the words before, or spoken them myself._

_ The lack of sleep was obviously getting to me._

_ "Yes," Chiron said, "Camp Half-Blood. To inquire specifically- what do you know, exactly, of Camp Half-Blood?" _

_ "Nothing. Like I said, I'm in a dream." I let my thoughts wander. It was strange how my subconscious kept the solid, recurring thought of 'it's only a dream' in my head. Usually, one wasn't typically aware of these things._

_ "Hmm. I thought so," Chiron mused. He stared at the horizon, and I followed his gaze. He seemed to be looking directly at the cabins, to the upper left hand corner of the cabins, to be precise. A gray cabin of sea-stone rested there. I couldn't see any more details from my compromised position._

_ "What are you staring at?" I inquired._

_ "Nothing," Chiron said abruptly. "Ah, Katie, back at last." He seemed almost relieved- like he was saved by the bell. Katie was walking back to us with a gurney. I almost hugged her in relief. Wicker couches may be stylish for porches, but they weren't very comfortable._

_ "Here you go," Katie said. I noticed a lilting accent for the first time- Irish, perhaps? "Let me help you, Lynnie."_

_ "How do you know my nickname?" I asked. _

_ Chiron and Katie exchanged a look. They seemed to be having a silent battle. _No_, Chiron seemed to be saying_. Don't talk_. _Yes, _Katie seemed to be arguing. _Let me speak. Give me freedom or give me death!

_ I tend to have a bit of an overactive imagination._

_ "A lucky guess," Katie finally said, sounding defeated. "Just a lucky guess is all." She lifted me up onto the gurney. "Chiron, can I have some help with this?" _

_ "Certainly." Chiron buckled his horse's legs, kneeling by me, and lifted the stretcher. I yelped as we bumped into the wicker couch. Stupid couch. I really needed to burn that thing later in this dream if I could._

_ They carried me into the house, going past the swinging door. I caught glimpses of other corridors and doorways, but mostly just kept my tired eyes to the ceiling. They seemed heavy with fatigue._

_ Finally, Chiron and Katie set me down on a bed. They propped me up with some pillows, and I took into account the room. I was in a living room sized area full of beds, like a hospital hallway, minus the curtains. Apparently, privacy wasn't a priority. I caught glimpses of what looked like blood on chests, shiny and slick in the moonlight peeking through the skylight above. I blinked, shaking my head. _Sleep,_ I thought firmly_. I need sleep.

_ "Hiya, Houdini," Scylla said, marching into the room. I grinned as I saw her cat's eyes gleaming in the dark and neon green hair that matched my cast. "I see you're back."_

_ "Uh-huh," I said with a smile._

_ "Scylla, remove her casts and give her some ambrosia and nectar," Chiron said. "I must press into other matters more important than this one."_

_ "So she's not Marilyn?" Scylla asked, seeming deflated._

_ "I never said that. She just doesn't- know. Exactly." Chiron sighed, rubbing his face. "It's complicated, Scylla. Please, try not to run your mouth as you are usually accustomed to. She is- unaware."_

_ Scylla's eyes brightened. "Unaware? So, can I like, fill her in?"_

_ "Absolutely not," Chiron said firmly. "Under no circumstances. I mean it, Scylla."_

_ "Fine." Scylla pouted as Chiron clopped out of the room._

_ "So," I ventured, "what was that all about?" _

_ Scylla pulled up an empty folding chair from an occupied neighboring bed. She reached into the cabinet by my side, rustling through for something. "Nothing." She snapped her gum, sending a shockwave of pungent fake strawberry scent my way. "Damn, where is this crap?"_

_ "Oh, come on. I'm not stupid, you know." I glared at her, but the effect was lost with her back turned to mine._

_ "Yeah, I kinda figured. Travis called you- Athena replica? Something like that, I think." Scylla let out a groan of frustration. "Dammit! Where the hell is this stuff?"_

_ "Athena replica?" I shook my head. "Stop dodging the question. What was that all about?"_

_ "Nothing you need to know," Scylla replied. She buried her head into the medicine cabinet. "Shit! Where is the damn ambrosia when you need it?"_

_ "Shut up, Scylla," one of the kids on the beds groaned._

_ "Shut it yourself, dipshit," Scylla replied._

_ "Wow. You have a sailor's mouth. Like my friend Reese, actually. You guys should meet," I said thoughtfully. I knew that Scylla and Reese would like each other instantly. They both had those interchangeable personalities. _

_ "Aha! Found it! Scylla, one, cabinet, zero! Take _that, _laminate!" Scylla shouted._

_ "SHUT UP," a kid yelled._

_ "Fine, fine," Scylla muttered. She came out with a Ziploc bag full of squares of what looked like granola bars, a canteen, and a knife. "Ready, kiddo?"_

_ "What are you going to do with that knife?" I asked, more than slightly alarmed._

_ "Relax. Not anything life threatening. Probably." Scylla grinned. She looked like she was one of Sonic the Hedgehog's friends in the ghastly light._

_ "Probably? Either that's a very bad joke or I should be leaving. Now." I scooted backwards on the mattress and instantly regretted it, letting out a yelp of pain._

_ "Yes, I'm sure you're just a terribly fast sprinter," Scylla snorted. "Now give me your hand. I'm an experienced doctor. Mostly."_

_ I held out my hand bound in a neon cast warily. Scylla split it down the middle, not touching an inch of my skin. I stared at the pale, fleshy patch in the moonlight in novelty. That shouldn't have been possible. "What- and then- how?" I spluttered._

_ Scylla unfastened my leg braces. "The wonder of Celestial Bronze is great, kid."_

_ "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop calling me 'kid'," I said. "I'm thirteen years old and my name is Marilyn. Most of my friends call me Lyn or Lynnie."_

_ "Okay, kid," Scylla said cheerfully. She straightened, wiping her hands on her jeans. She reached into the Ziploc bag. "Now that that's that-"_

_ "Really? 'Now that that's that'? Your vocabulary could use some expansion," I said, glowering at the teenage girl._

_ "Yes. I happen to come from a family of illiterate people. You should be amazed by my academic dowess."_

_ "I think you mean prowess," I said._

_ Scylla waved a hand. "Dowess, prowess. Potato patahto." She looked at me directly in the eyes. "I want you to listen to me very carefully. I am going to feed you nectar and ambrosia. If you eat more than you should, you will get sick. Very, very sick. No matter how good it tastes, only eat what I tell you to, okay?"_

_ I nodded. "So- sort of like morphine?"_

_ "Exactly." Scylla looked pleased. She reached into the bag and took one of the granola bars and unscrewed the canteen. "I want you to eat this. It'll heal you."_

_ "Okey-dokey," I said doubtfully, but complied. I took a bite of the ambrosia._

_ It was the best thing I had ever tasted._

_ Strawberries. Sweet, sugary strawberries, with light, fluffy melt-in-your-mouth strawberry shortcake. A dollop of whipped cream was also present, somewhere, but mostly it was just- strawberries. Strawberry shortcake. My favorite food._

_ "What does it taste like?" Scylla asked curiously._

_ "Strawberry shortcake," I told her, licking my lips. "It's really good."_

_ "Yeah. It tastes like chocolate fudge for me." Scylla held out the canteen. "Drink."_

_ I took a sip. It rivaled the strawberry shortcake. The taste of freshly squeezed lemonade filled my mouth, like the kind Gran and I made whenever my father was away on a business trip. It was tangy, sour, and sweet all at the same time. Gran always said it was our little secret. Our little thing. Lemonade. My favorite drink._

_ "What does that one taste like?" Scylla queried._

_ "Lemonade. Like my Gran makes." _

_ "Mine tastes like hot chocolate," Scylla confessed. "I'm kind of addicted to chocolate."_

_ "I can see that," I said with a small smile. A warmth was beginning to spread through my body. It burned, but not in an unpleasant way- it was sort of a wave of cleanliness. It was similar to the feeling of stepping into a really hot bath._

_ "You should probably get some sleep," Scylla said. "It's best to rest through the effects of ambrosia, though a lot of people often can't- the situation is too dire. Your parents were in that situation a lot."_

_ "You knew them?" I asked curiously. Man, this dream was weird._

_ Scylla hesitated, and then lowered her voice to a soft murmur, leaning forward. "If you disappear again- and this stays between us- ask your dad about Camp Half-Blood. Ask him to tell you his adventures there."_

_ I shrugged. "Okay."_

_ "Now, get some sleep," Scylla said, in a conspicuously louder tone. "Get some rest, kid."_

_ I did as she asked, leaning my head against the pillows. They were soft, like goose feathers, and the blankets felt light and fluffy. I closed my eyes, letting the warm, aching feeling of fatigue and exhaustion wash over me, bathing me in a long, comatose sleep._

* * *

**I woke to the sound of birds.**

_Spring_, I thought to myself. I was still getting accustomed to the truth of green shoots of grass finally beginning to peek through the heavy layer of snow. It seemed as if three years had passed since I had witnessed April showers instead of one year.

I yawned, stretching my arms. Exhaustion was still prominent within me, and my mind kept flitting back to my dream. Chiron. Scylla. Travis. Katie. Puck. The words and names floated through my head, meaningless in an ocean of uncertainty.

Wait.

Stretching my 'arms'?

I looked down at my arm carefully. There was no neon green cast there, no netting, no heavy weight where it had been the day before. Just- my own, slightly paler, fleshy arm. Moving it up and down, I let out a gasp. It had healed. My arm was fixed.

I threw off my blankets and sucked in my breath. My legs were devoid of braces, and I kicked them up and down. Swinging them over the edge of my bed, I shook my head. This was impossible. Dirt- that could be explained by sleepwalking. But healed injuries and a loss of casts and braces? That was impossible.

Somewhere inside me, I knew it wasn't.

"Holy shit," I whispered.

Camp Half-Blood was real. That was the only explanation for this. That place, with Scylla the cat-girl who always called me 'kid', Puck, Travis, and Katie, and the centaur, Chiron- it was all _real_. My hands shook. This wasn't happening.

Another thought surfaced. If all of this was true, then-

The part regarding my parents was true as well.

My father and mother had gone to Camp Half-Blood.

* * *

REESE'S POV

**"Okay," I said dubiously.**

"That's all you've said for the past ten minutes," Lyn said, clearly irritated. We were in science class, standing over by her desk. Key word being _standing_. Apparently, temporary immobilization healed fast.

"No, no, I just need to get this straight," I said, rubbing my temples. "So- you didn't really break any of your bones? The doctors had it wrong? And they realized this _after _you put on the cast and braces?"

"Yes," Lyn said. The tone of her voice was off. There was an undercurrent of uncertainty, something that I recognized from my brother, Jamie. He had the same tone when claiming he hadn't stolen from the cookie jar- when he had a cookie in his hand, of course. Lyn was lying.

"Are you _sure _this whole thing wasn't just a dare?" I said doubtfully. "I won't judge, I swear."

"Yes! I'm telling the truth, Reese!" she exclaimed, whirling on me. Her voice had risen about three octaves- like it does when she's lying.

"Uh-huh," I said, crossing my arms. I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.

"Jesus Christ, Reese! I. Am. Telling. The. Truth. Will you _please _shut up before this turns into a great big scene?" Lyn said. Gods, she was pitiful when she begged. Nevertheless, I let it go- sort of.

"I think it's a little too late for the whole 'not making a scene' thing," I told her, leaning against her lab cart.

"Shut it, will you?" Lyn glowered at me. Gods, that girl was scary when she was angry. Her eyes bored holes into me. I held up my hands.

"Spare me, Master of the Force!" I told her, cowering behind my makeshift shield.

Lyn snorted. "And you call _me _a dork. Can you please remind me exactly why we are friends?"

"Don't judge. Jamie's obsessed with Yoda, not me. And- look. All I'm saying is that if you're telling the truth, your doctor _sucks_. He screwed up royally." I studied her closely.

Lyn averted her eyes and I heaved a sigh of frustration. She was _so _lying, she just wouldn't admit it. We never used to keep secrets, but they had piled up in the past week- especially on my side. I had discovered that the Greek gods were real, after all, and not shared it.

"Oh, honey. What_ever _is the matter?" a sickly sweet voice drawled.

I growled. "Go away, Sissy."

Selene scowled at me, a most unladylike gesture. She still managed to look gorgeous, despite the early morning and ugly gesture. Her caramel hair was curled today, in small, little ringlets. She managed to make the uniforms look good. That was just not fair. "Do you ever shut up, Winters?" she said, studying her fingernails.

"I do believe that was an American phrase," I said, holding a hand up to my mouth in mock scandal. "We'll make a hillbilly out of you yet!"

"Yes, you would know, would not you?" Selene said delicately, placing one manicured hand on her hip.

"Seriously? 'Would not you'? Are you just too high and mighty now to use contractions?" Lynnie said disbelievingly. Ah, my fellow comrade. Together we will march and destroy the Brit Bitch!

"Don't be jealous of my elegance, Jackson," Selene said, though there was a strange undercurrent in her voice. I dismissed it quickly, thinking I had imagined it. "Besides- were not you immobilized just yesterday?"

"Disappointed I'm not a quadriplegic, Sissy? Hate to disappoint you. There was a misunderstanding regarding my doctor," Lyn said. Huh. Quadriplegic. That was a new one to look up in my dictionary.

I swallowed, thinking of my lonely dictionary in our house at home. I had been living with the Frenchs, this family friend, since my mom's breakdown. She was more or less composed, but I was still moving on Friday. To Camp Half-Blood. My front yard had been decimated from the tree, and part of the front of the house had caught on fire. Apparently, I had been completely oblivious. Yesterday, I pretty much earned the 'dumbest daughter' award.

"A misunderstanding?" Will asked, coming up Lynnie. She shrieked, jumping about three feet. Her pupils were dilated, big, round, black when she came back down. She stumbled, mouth parted.

"Wow. That was certainly a performance," Will remarked drily.

"Shut up," Lyn said shakily. "I've had a really rough night."

"Really? What about?" Will asked. It sounded genuinely concerned. I bit back a smarmy remark. What on Earth was happening to me?

"Nothing _you _would understand," Lyn said coldly. Something internal seemed to transpire between the two of them, and I stared, at a loss for what was going on. I was terribly confused.

Will scratched the back of his neck. "About that- look, Lynnie-"

"Lynnie?" Lyn said, a tinge of something undetectable in her voice.

Will's cheeks tinged pink. "Uh- Marilyn. There's really something that-"

"Please get to your seats, boys and girls," Bridge called from her desk.

Lyn shrugged, going to her desk. Selene did so as well, sitting beside a Theo completely absorbed in some sort of mechanical windup toy. I walked over to my desk alongside a clearly frustrated Will.

"Dammit," he muttered.

"What were you going to tell her?" I asked, partially out of curiosity and partially out of jealousy. I was moving, something told me, and I shouldn't be jealous. After all, I would probably never see Will again. Still- I wanted to know.

"I was going to apologize. I said some pretty shitty things to her that I probably shouldn't have said, and I wanted to at least say I was sorry if we couldn't be friends anymore," Will said miserably.

"What did you say to her?"

"Some- choice- things about her dad. And how she was kind of being a drama queen. But other than that, nothing," Will said hurriedly.

I stared at him. "Oh, dude. She's never going to forgive you for that. That was a pretty jackass thing to do."

Will rubbed his face. "Damn, I wish there was a time machine."

Yeah. I could relate. "Just out of curiosity, why do you want to be her friend so badly? If you said those things, you can't have been expecting her to take them in stride."

"I- don't really know," Will said slowly. "I guess I just had my mind opened recently, and- I kind of wish I were her friend. She's funny. She makes me laugh, I guess. I just kind of screwed the whole 'friends' thing up royally."

"Yeah, you did. But that doesn't mean that it's over." I sighed. "Look, if you really like Lynnie and want her as a friend, give her some space to cool down. Say sorry. Wait a week or two. Then try again."

Will studied me. "I guess you're right. Are you sure she's going to forgive me?"

"Nope. Not even a little. But if you're really a good friend, you wouldn't expect her to. I don't know what you said, but if it was bad enough that she actually slapped you, then- you just have no idea what she's gone through. It sucks to not be able to trust anyone except for me and her grandparents. That was a really crappy thing to do, and if you're smart, you'll write an apology worthy of a first-place ribbon and then give her some space. She'll probably see some sense sooner or later, Will. Just give Lynnie some space." I felt like I was nailing my own coffin into the ground, but I was moving. Lynnie was going to need a friend. Will was a good person.

"Why are you telling me this?" Will asked in novelty.

"Because," I said quietly, "I'm moving to New York. This weekend. And I haven't told Marilyn yet."

Will stared at me, wide-eyed.

"Yeah. That happens to be _my _life right now. Feel free any time you want to switch," I said.

"Well, looks like we're both screwed, then," Will said. "Thanks. About Marilyn, I mean."

"No problem. Just- one thing, please?" I asked.

"Yeah?"

"Don't break her heart."

* * *

SELENE'S POV

**Good gods, I hated that girl.**

"Today, class," Mrs. Bridge droned on, her voice washing over the students in a wave of monotone general disinterest, "we will be starting a project on waves. Your job is to create a presentation exemplifying a certain type of wave- transverse, surface, or longitudinal- and then hand it in to me. I will select the best three presentations made by you and show them to the class."

I rolled my eyes, carefully conscripting the notes into my spiral notebook. Back in London, we had learned the finest, most advanced material there was. We had been taught by the best of the best. There were no annoying brothers, psychotic fathers, or mothers who hated their daughters and would rather dote on the youngest and cutest of her children. Most importantly, there was no Greek anything. No demigods, no Greek gods- for once, I was free to just be _me_. Not the daughter of Leo Valdez, great inventor and famous demigod, or the daughter of Calypso, beautiful, now-mortal daughter of Atlas, just me, Selene Esperanza Valdez.

Then, it had all been taken away from me, in one phone call from Mom. _"There's something I need to tell you," _she had said. _"Something very important." _I had figured out what that meant soon enough. Packing our family up from their home and dragging me across the Atlantic Ocean to live with the Graces. Something to tell me, mummy dearest? Yeah, no _dip_, Sherlock.

Now I was stuck in a house with my stupid family who insisted on calling me Sissy and not Selene, all because I had refused to touch a blade. I planned on being a lady, and that did not involve great big broadswords, or daggers. Those were the weapons of the brash, irrational people at Camp Half-Blood. Thus, Will had started calling me 'sissy'. It had eventually morphed into a much hated nickname. And, of course, the Graces. Caroline wasn't so bad; she just needed a little improvement on her social skills. Music was not a friend. Janice ran rampant like a Pict (which I now knew was a vile barbarian from Scotland) all through the house. Reid was- just- frustrating. Will was my mortal enemy. He needed to go to hell at this point, in my opinion, or at least get his ass handed to him. Finally, there was Piper, who clearly couldn't handle three children, let alone four, or _five_. She and Jason were obviously in need of a mental asylum.

Somewhere, I knew that all of these things were just mean and out of spite that I had lost the only good thing that I had ever possessed, but at the same time, I was frustrated at being picked up and moved halfway through third quarter at my British boarding school.

And, just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, they did. I met Marilyn Jackson. The smart, pretty girl who thought she was God's gift to Earth. The girl who had the legacy even more impressive than mine- I actually felt sorry for her with that one. I wouldn't wish family greatness on anybody. Half of my life, I had always been known as 'Leo's daughter' or 'Calypso's daughter' while my brothers were called 'Leo's older boy' or 'Calypso's younger boy'. I had been called Sissy by all for some time now, and though I hated the nickname, it was better than no name at all.

"Miss Valdez!" a sharp voice said.

I looked up, ignoring the snickers. Mrs. Bridge stood up at the front of the room. "Hmm?" I asked, at a loss for words.

"Answer the question, please," Mrs. Bridge said tiredly.

"Er- can you please repeat the question?" I asked hopefully.

"Pay attention in class, Miss Valdez," Mrs. Bridge said with a shake of her head. "There never was any question. Look alive, will you? At least pretend to show some devotion to your studies."

I nodded meekly as a red blush spread up from my neck. Theo snickered besides me. I elbowed him in the ribcage, none too gently. He whimpered pathetically. Honestly, and they called _me_ the sissy.

"The project will be a group assignment," Mrs. Bridge continued. "I have already assigned partners, so I will read off the following." A chorus of groans rang throughout the class. "Hush, all of you. Alright. The first:

"Henry Little and Theo Valdez. Selene Valdez with Margaret Waters." I turned to see a girl smacking gum loudly wave at me. Oh, dear. "Reese Winters and Jonah Duval. William Grace and Marilyn Jackson."

Oh, damn.

My day just got a _whole _lot better.

I caught sight of Marilyn, looking ashen. Her big green eyes were wide and her lips were parted in an expression of surprise. Will, on the other hand, was looking delighted. His bright blue eyes were looking at Marilyn curiously.

Oh, _damn_.

No, they weren't looking curiously. More- admiringly. Oh, God. Mr. 'I do _not _have a crush on Marilyn Jackson' Grace had a crush on Marilyn. Oh, damn. I sensed the scales tipping. I had Will pinned now. He was under my thumb. I could squash him, just like a bug-

"Selene, no," Theo said quietly, not looking up from his toy. "Stay away."

I looked at my twin, startled. "What- how did you?"

"I see the way that he looks at her too. Humans are just like machines- they're just a little more complex," Theo explained, all the while tinkering away. "I can see the cogs in his brain. She likes him back, too."

"So why cannot I meddle?" I complained. "They need no sympathy!"

"Yes, they do. Their lives are probably a living hell, too, Lena," Theo said, furrowing his eyebrows as he adjusted something complex within the toy. "Aw, darn it."

"Their lives aren't even close!" I protested.

"Were you even listening to the story last night?" Theo said, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah. I think both of their lives are. Marilyn's got a crappy father and Will has an unexpected sibling. Have a little compassion, Selene."

I scowled. I hated it when my brother was correct.

"Hey. My name's Maggie. Maggie Waters." I looked up to see the girl smacking gum standing over at me. "So, Bridge said this project was due Monday. Whose house do ya wanna go to for working? Bridge said we should start pretty damn early, and my grade's an assload of shit right now, so I'm hoping you're a smart bitch, 'cause I need a good grade."

Oh, dear. A dumb girl with a mouth.

Theo smirked. "Good luck."

I pointed to his partner, slumped and sleeping on a desk. "Likewise, brother."

Theo groaned.

* * *

WILL'S POV

**I thanked the gods.**

After what Piper had told me last night, I had felt like a hollowed out shell. Devoid of emotion. I had underestimated Lynnie's situation, and therefore came off as a jerk. I doubted she would ever even listen to me, let alone forgive me, but here Jupiter was, granting me a second chance at a friendship.

Lynnie marched over to me. She looked fuller than normal; healthier, almost. She almost seemed to be _glowing_, like when someone has just a little too much ambrosia at camp. The glare kind of spoiled the whole effect. She shot daggers at me, slamming down her books. "I can do the whole project," she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. "It's no trouble."

I snorted. "Not a chance."

"Well," Lynnie said, brushing a golden tendril out of her face, "you should at least know that I'm not very good at working with others. Most people learn to let me do the work. You'll get full credit, of course. I am leading you into this position; you aren't choosing it yourself."

"You're really something else, aren't you?" I shook my head. "Nah. You're not going to get rid of me that easy, Lynnie."

"What is with the 'Lynnie'?" she demanded. "Only my friends call me that."

I shrugged. "The nickname's grown on me. It's surpassed even sadist bitch. One must wonder at the novelty of these things. I choose to take it all in stride."

"Look," Lynnie said firmly, "I want no part in this psychopath deviation of yours. Let me do the work myself. It's no trouble at all, really. Don't sweat it."

"Gods. My house is open any day. We can go after school and take care of this whole thing, and then you can edit it all, but I don't feel right just letting you do the whole thing. I think you may have a few other things on your hands. Despite some people's thoughts, I do understand." I gazed at her levelly.

Lynnie bit her lip. "You deserved that."

"Yeah, I did," I admitted. "I was a jackass. And I'm sorry." It wasn't exactly the first-place worthy speech that I had promised Reese, so I forged ahead. "It was stupid and shitty of me to ever think that I could understand- _any _of what you go through. And… I know that now. I just didn't before. Epiphany, I guess, comes a little too late." I ran a hand through my hair. "I'm really not very good at apologies." _Don't break her heart, _Reese had said. I had said nothing in reply. Clearly, I wasn't doing a very good job.

Lynnie softened and smiled. "It's okay. Keep going."

Hmm. I may stand corrected.

"I get the sense you're enjoying this," I said drily. She just widened her smile, and I continued. "I've always kind of come from this perfect family. It's sort of a utopia in my own perfect little world, but we go to this camp over the summer, and a lot of the people there have parental issues," I said, thinking of Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter. "It was stupid of me to pretend to think that I knew what you were going through, and… I realize that, I guess. Too little, too late. But-" I pulled at the strands of my hair. "I'm really sorry. I was a jackass. Just- please forgive me."

Lynnie stared at me for a long time. She blinked, and with a start, I realized she was crying. "Bullshit," she said.

"What? Oh, dammit, you don't-"

"Bullshit. You're a wonderful apologizer," she said. "Thank you. That was the prettiest apology I've ever had. Thank you, Will."

I smiled. "Will?"

"Yeah. I figured that the swear words could use a rest," Lynnie said. "Your name's not all that bad."

"Thanks."

"Can we really go over to your house?" Lynnie asked tentatively. "I'm a little afraid to see my father's reaction when he sees me out of a wheelchair."

"What? I thought he knew?" I said, confused.

"Uh- not exactly," Lynnie said, dodging the question.

"Okay," I said, smiling. "We can go to my house."

She grinned, and for the first time, I realized that she had dimples.

It was funny, I thought, how you never really notice things, big or small, until they're spelled right out in front of you.

* * *

**"Hey, Mom, I'm home!" I called.**

Lynnie twirled behind me, wide-eyed. "_This _is your house?" she said, openmouthed. I couldn't blame her. The crystal chandelier foyer was quite a sight for newcomers.

The open ceiling rained gentle, sunny afternoon light on down to us. The grand, spiraling staircase led upstairs, punctuated by a grand, glittering chandelier. Ornate rugs served as a welcome mat, and dark espresso wood gleamed.

Janie, Selene, and Theo all glared at me for bringing Lynnie home. It probably wasn't the greatest idea in hindsight, what with my mother breaking down in tears the previous night, but Lynnie was too oblivious to notice. She was staring at the grandness of our house in shock.

"Yes, it is," Selene said, sniffing delicately. "What? Have you never seen luxury before?"

Lynnie glared at Selene. "I have- but- this is a _castle_!"

"Hello, William!" Piper called from somewhere. I heard the patter of her feet descending the steps, and a clatter as Reid and Dominic ran into each other with a clatter of plastic transformers.

"Come on, guys," I said, looking at the giggling little boys sprawled out on the floor. "That's like the sixth time you've done that today."

"It's alright," Lynnie said softly, extending a hand out for the kids. Reid grabbed it. "They're cute."

"No, they're monsters," I told her passionately. "Demons reincarnated in the form of helpless little children. They cannot be sympathized with."

"Oh, give it a rest, Will," Janie said. "You're Satan himself. I wouldn't be talking."

Lynnie giggled. "You just got burned by your sister, Will."

"Like I said," I muttered, "they're demons. The whole lot of them."

"Oh, Will, stop terrorizing the guests. And who is-" Piper stopped on her descent of the stairs abruptly.

"Oh, hi, sorry. My name is Marilyn Jackson," Lynnie said, outstretching a hand.

Piper stood stock-still, eyes wide. "I know who you are."

"Oh. Right, sorry about the fight," Lynnie said, eyes downcast.

Piper looked over at me. "Will, can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Sure," I said. Piper grabbed my wrist and dragged me into one of our dining rooms. I gazed at the china cabinets showcasing weapons. The celestial bronze and imperial gold glinted in the soft sunlight, contrasting with the stripes.

"I want her gone, William. Do you understand?" Piper hissed, leaning close to me. "I don't care why she's here, I just want her gone. She is not to step foot in this house again."

"Don't you think that you're overreacting?" I said. "I just have her over for a project." This was ridiculous. I stared out the windows, carefully avoiding eye contact with her.

"I. Want. Her. Gone. Make up something. I don't care. But I don't want to see her again. Is that clear?" Piper said, her eyes livid.

"What the hell?" I asked. "What is this even about?"

"You know perfectly well what this is about, William Lucas Grace," Piper said. "I want Marilyn Jackson out of this house. Her father is going to kill all of us if he finds out that she was here. I want her gone. Now."

I threw up my hands. "This is stupid!"

"But it is what I am telling you to do. Go. Now, or there will be consequences for your actions," Piper warned.

I shook my head and stomped away. I couldn't believe her. Entering the foyer, I swore colorfully and violently under my breath. This was so dumb. My mother was warning Marilyn away because she was afraid. My entire family were such cowards.

As I walked into the foyer, I realized something was off. Theo stood to the side awkwardly. With a start, I saw that Lynnie was gone.

"What the hell?" I asked. "Where did Lynnie go?"

"She went home," Janie said. "Something about- not being wanted, I think?"

"What? She can't just walk!" I exclaimed.

"Well. She did. Sorry," Theo said. "Look, it's probably for the best. Don't follow her."

I looked out the window of my door and saw a blonde-haired figure. Some part of me wanted to run after her, to apologize, to explain, but that wasn't an option. I bit my tongue, not flinching at the sharp taste of blood.

I didn't follow.

* * *

PERCY'S POV

**I banged my head against the wall.**

The drywall collided with my forehead, sending a shockwave of pain through me. Still, I persisted. I had heard once on a television show that if you create more pain, it will lessen the effects of other pain by adding a distraction.

Needless to say, it wasn't exactly working.

A knock sounded at my office door, and I sighed. I was in my office, again, answering a plea to visit the Monterey Bay aquarium. Apparently, they were having trouble with a hammerhead shark. Under any other circumstances, I would have considered this easy money, something we could use right now. Monterey was just too close to San Francisco. Too close to _her_.

Or, I corrected with a lump in my throat, more specifically, memories of _her_. They were all I had left, and after ten years, they were beginning to fade. That was what scared me the most. I could no longer remember the smell of her perfume, or what kind of shampoo she used. Every once in a while, I would go into the basement, and open up the locked chest I had of her clothes, but all the sweaters smelled like now were mothballs. Wet mothballs.

I banged my head against the wall.

"Father?" a familiar voice asked, another knock sounding at the door. "Can I talk to you?"

"No," I growled. "Go away, Marilyn."

"Please? I really need to speak with you."

"It's just going to have to wait, then," I told her sharply. "Go to your room. Don't you have homework or something else you can do?"

"I don't need a scribe anymore," she said suddenly; unexpectedly.

"Congratulations. You weren't going to get one. Now go and do your homework, Marilyn Elise Jackson, or you will regret it," I said, a warning in my voice.

"Or a wheelchair. I don't need that anymore, either," she told me.

"What the hell do you mean, you don't need a wheelchair? Marilyn-" I walked over to the door and swung it open.

Standing outside was my daughter, posed straight and tall. She had no cast or leg braces on, and was almost _glowing_. The red tinge to her cheeks bordered on a feverish look. I widened my eyes, stepped back, and slammed the door.

I opened it again. Marilyn waved weakly. "What the hell?" I demanded. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"Not exactly," Marilyn said slowly. "It's a miracle, I guess. But- I know how it happened. And you do, too."

"How, exactly, do you figure that?" I said, snorting.

"Father," Marilyn ventured, "what do you know of a place called Camp Half-Blood?"

My ears rang. I staggered backwards. _Camp Half-Blood._

_I love you, Seaweed Brain._

_Did you blow up the creek _again_? You know how they hate that._

_How can you possibly look handsome after a battle?_

_Hold me. Please. _

_Percy. Take care of our daughter. Please. I can't. I'm leaving._

Annabeth.

_Look at her. She has your eyes, I'm telling you._

_Don't feed her strawberries! She's not supposed to have them yet!_

_Gods, Seaweed Brain, only you would not know who Scylla is, after that whole fiasco._

_Please. I can't. I'm leaving. _

_I'm dying._

Annabeth. Memories of her flooded through me, smiles, and laughter, and…

I slammed the door in Marilyn's face.

And this time, I did not open it back up.


	15. Chapter 15: Long Island and Love

A/N: I'm back... after a while. I am SO sorry... I had spring break and excuses are lame but... still. Sorry. These updates will probably be coming once or twice a week now, just so you know- sorry about the long period of time. I hope you enjoy the chapter, though.

Note to reviewers: Thank you guys SO much!

Here we go with chapter fifteen...

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

PERCY'S POV

**Eleven years.**

The number _eleven _seemed strange to me; foreign, as if it was in a new language, something I cannot ever hope to ever be understood. In truth, it was only six letters, and yet, as I thought it, sagged against the wall of my office, it seemed a million letters wide. An expanse so great that it cannot be ever hoped to be explained. Eleven years, after all, was the amount of time since she died.

The first year was the worst. The memories were sharpest then, the most painful. I remembered waking up in my bed, rolling over, expecting her sleeping face, only to find a few rumpled blankets. Sally tells me that I used to wake in the middle of the night from nightmares, screaming for my wife, only to wake to find that she was already gone.

The second year, I moved away from Sally and Paul's house into Quincy, Massachusetts, where I could firmly establish me and my daughter amid the tattered ruins of our life. The memories were still incredibly painful. Every time I thought of her, it was as if she died all over again. I saw her pale face and clouded eyes, and felt the force of her body as it went limp, never to be regained again.

Now, the memories are not so hard, but I still cannot begin to think of her. The gods truly had their revenge the day that my wife died, because when her heart stopped, mine did too. My best friend, my wife, and the world I knew all perished in one day. It was the supreme revenge. I try to cling to the fleeting memories, as they desert me, slowly, piece by piece.

I scrubbed my face with the palms of my hands. With a deep breath, I turned to my office wall, with its bricks and mortar in place, and its ashes, crimson and pale grey. To the right of the wall, there was a slightly protruded brick, and I pressed my palm against it, feeling the coarse, cool brick beneath my skin. I am rewarded with the scrape of stone against stone as it slides outward, admitting a small mahogany box no bigger than a book.

Carefully, I reached for the cord I wore beneath my lightweight cotton shirt. Pulling it out, I stared at the bronze key dangling from the leather. It gleamed in the dim glow of the lamp sitting on my desk, taunting me, tempting me. I understand Tantalus now, him and his never-ending curse.

With a resigned sigh, I placed the cord in my hand and set to work carefully untying the knot. The strings hang flaccidly, wrinkled from where they have been tied up so long. I slide the key off its cord, and it lands in the palm of my hand, cool, untarnished metal. A bronze key that locked secrets I hadn't seen in eleven years.

With care, I slid the key into the lock, twisting it slightly, until I heard the click of a lock unhinging, dozens of unused gears sliding into place. The box popped open, and with shaking hands, I opened it. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see what laid in the box.

And then I gingerly lifted the lid.

The camp necklace is the first thing that I pulled out. I fingered the beads carefully, eyes flitting over the various years. A golden fleece, its paint chipped and flaky. An empire state building, gray and ominous. A maze, winding and deadly. And then a trident, green and blue. Me.

Next, I pulled out a hat. Its strings are faded, and the whole thing is wrinkled and crushed in at the top. A ball cap, and if you study it very carefully, you find the remnants of the word _Yankees _at the top, embroidered carefully. A hat of invisibility that stopped working after she died.

Finally, I lifted out a picture frame. It was small, with dark wood trim and glassy wood, and plain, but it held _her _in it. For a heart-wrenching moment, I saw her as she was, beautiful and carefree, with a mass of wild blond curls that spiraled down her back. Her eyes sparkled, and against my will, my mouth quirked up at the corners at the dimple in her left cheek. Her arm was slung around me in that picture, and my eyes darted over to where I stood. I looked so different than how I appeared today. There is less gray in my hair, and more of a smile than my trademark bitter grimace.

I sat down at my desk, face in my hands. On impulse, I bent down to pull out my desk drawer. Charily, I lifted the fake slot from its place, and grab the velvet box, smaller than my right hand, twirling it in my hands. Carefully, I opened it, readying myself for my engagement gift to her and her wedding ring.

I found the silver gleam of the ring and the venomous glitter of the diamonds encrusted upon it, but something was missing. The necklace was gone.

I kicked my desk suddenly and angrily. Taking the picture in my hands, I clutch it until my knuckles are white, and then I hurled it at the wall. An explosion of glass shattering sounded as tiny fragments of glass skid over the floor, tinkering gently on the hard wood.

I didn't even flinch.

* * *

MARILYN'S POV

**I stared at the door.**

My father hadn't answered, he had just- left me standing there. My plummeting stomach confirmed what, somewhere in my heart, I already knew. Camp Half-Blood was real. It was a genuine place, something not just out of my imagination or subconscious.

Standing there, at that door, I remembered all the times that my father had shunned me and slapped me and cursed at me and everything else he had ever said or done. With a start, I realized that I was finished with it. I was no longer the shy, scared two year-old in want of her mommy, I was the angry thirteen year-old who wanted _answers_. If Camp Half-Blood was something besides a fantasy world, I needed to find out where it was. I would run away, away from Quincy, away from my father, in search of answers. Perhaps I would find out who my mom was- more than just her name. Perhaps I would find out who my father was. Perhaps I would find Scylla and Puck and all the others.

I was going to leave Quincy for good- as soon as I found out where Camp Half-Blood was. I didn't know what these dreams were, or why they were here, or who they were sent by-

My heart stopped.

Who they were sent by.

Though it was impossible, my heart lifted. My mother. It was impossible; and somewhere I knew that, but still, my pulse quickened. If not for my mother, then who? In light of what could be possible, nothing seemed fantasy or fable anymore. I wasn't sure what to make of anything anymore, and that left my mother.

I froze. My mother- I couldn't be sure of her.

What if she wasn't dead?

What if my mother _wasn't dead_?

I wiped my palms on my skirt. It was time for me to find out who I was. There had been time for confinement and fear in what laid outside of the walls of my house. There had been a time for scared little girls. But at this one moment, I was going to take this chance. My father was never going to tell me about my mother. I knew that now.

The past was in the past.

I thrust up my chin. Too long I had waited for others to explain things, to come say sorry in a hurry. I deserved a chance to become my own person, to find out my past. If it included centaurs, then clearly there was some explanation in order.

I turned, marching up the hallway into my bedroom. Throwing myself down on the duvet, I succumbed to the dreams that I had been hiding from for so long. Too long. This was not something to hide from, it was something to embrace. It was my only key to what may lay behind, and this time, I was not afraid.

I was ready.

* * *

_I woke in the infirmary._

_ Around me, the sounds of clinking glass and gentle murmurs cloak me. I blinked open my eyes, growing accustomed to the bright March sun watching and taunting me. Taking a deep breath, I pushed a golden curl out of my eyes. Too long had I hidden- I would go free._

_ Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I set my shoulders in resolve. I spotted a boy looking over a patient in a neighboring bed, straightening the thin, white, cotton covers on the small cot. Marching over, I set my cool gaze on him. "Excuse me, but where are we?"_

_ The man stared at me. "Who are you?" He blinked. He was older; with a grey beard and a wrinkled, lined face, and wary-looking brown eyes._

_ I blew another stray strand of hair out of my eyes. "My name is Marilyn Jackson. I need to know the location of this place- this is Camp Half-Blood, correct?"_

_ The man looked at me with wide eyes. "Who did you say you were?"_

_ My hands twitched in irritation. "Marilyn Jackson. Do not make me repeat it again."_

_ "You're not allowed here," the man said slowly. "You're not supposed to be here. You're supposed to be gone."_

_ "Sucks for the devils who thought I was gone, then," I snapped. "Now where the hell are we? Do not make me repeat it again, else you will regret it. Severely." I was growing appalled at myself. I never talked like this- and yet, this felt right. Somehow, I felt as if I could take this man, whoever he was._

_ "Was that a threat?" the man asked, his brown eyes catching light of something dangerous._

_ "It was. Now answer the question," I said, slapping my hand down on the bed. The patient moaned. "Oh, for the love of God, shut up, will you?" The patient didn't reply._

_ "I don't think I'm going to tell you, actually," the man said, standing. "I don't answer to people like you." I gazed at him. He had… furry hindquarters. The top half of him was human; he was even wearing a faded blue blazer, and the bottom half of him had shaggy, curly hair, complete with goat hooves. He was a satyr, I realized. I wasn't completely certain as to what this place _was _anymore._

_ I took a deep breath. "Like me." I raised an eyebrow. "Listen to me very carefully. I'm not sure if you know what's like to have no idea of who you are, but that's where I am. And at this point, if you refuse to tell me, there will be consequences. Make no mistake."_

_ "I don't answer to people like you. Leave us be, for gods' sakes," the man snapped, and for the first time, I notice the horns on his head, poking up through his curly grey hair. _

_ "Now," I hissed. "Last chance."_

_ "My answer stands," the man said stubbornly. _

_ Unfortunately, my mind had little time to process this before there was a churning sensation in my gut. I closed my eyes and let all of my pent-up emotion free, about everything from this man to the last going-out day. From the past two weeks. _

_ There was a shattering sound, and then a splash._

_ I opened my eyes to find a littering of glass on the floor, and- water. Water coated the floor, and I felt a tugging in my gut. The water seemed to draw towards me like a magnet draws metal, and before I knew it, I was holding water in my hands, in a spherical shape. It gleamed in the light, shining ominously, forming a clear, deadly bubble._

_ People turned their heads toward me. My hands shook, suspending the water. This wasn't possible. The satyr widened his eyes as I drew my hands back. The water stayed suspended. My heart leapt into my throat and I screamed, a shrill, strident cry._

_ The water collapsed to the floor, and I felt dizzy. Before I knew it, sparkles danced in front of my eyes; leaping, white prickles, and I felt my knees buckle. Someone caught me, but not before I saw the satyr whisper two words when my world went black._

_ "Long Island."_

* * *

**Long Island.**

The camp was in Long Island.

My hands shook, and I remembered the water. The tugging sensation in my gut, pulling and commanding, taunting and overpowering. I glanced at the glass of water on my nightstand, the gears in my mind spinning and whirring. If there was ever a time to test the theory of whether this 'Camp Half-Blood' was real or not, this would be it. If I could control the water, then I would pack up and leave, taking my three hundred dollars of savings with me. If I couldn't, well-

I would stay. It would have all just been a dream. My father would have slammed the door in my face for nothing, just for irritation of me having nothing valid to say. Just annoyance, like usual. My mom- Annabeth- would be dead, even possibly putting me into these dreams. Camp Half-Blood would be nothing but a figment of my rather overactive imagination.

Staring at the water glass, my hands shook uncontrollably. With some surprise, I realized that to a certain degree, I _wanted _to believe that all of this was real. If it wasn't, then I was back at square one, in Quincy, Massachusetts, with a dead mother and a father who hated me. There were some perks about Quincy- Reese, for instance, Gran and Gramps, Jenny, and Will, though I severely doubted that his family liked me. Not that I could blame them, really- I had, after all, slapped their son in the face and given him a suspension. Selene had practically told me to f off her family yesterday.

I bit my lip, hard. A spurt of blood came up, and I wiped it away, tasting the sharp, metallic flavor of blood. I set my shoulders in resolve. This was either truth or tale, and I had every inclination to find out. I closed my eyes. With a deep breath, I concentrated on the glass of water, picturing the sphere of glassy water, translucent and bulbous.

A tugging sensation started in my gut, pulling almost painfully. I swallowed, wanting it to stop, for it to _end, _but it didn't. With a gasp, I stumbled backwards. Opening my eyes, I gaped at the sight before me.

A perfectly round circle of water, clear and gleaming in the light, floating around four feet in the air. It rippled, as if touched by invisible palms. Around me, the world went on; nighttime in Quincy, Boston. People drove cars and finished dinner and studied for exams and kissed their boyfriends but in my world, everything that I knew collapsed.

It fell to the floor with a splash. I stifled a scream just barely, letting out a shriek of terror.

It was all real. Camp Half-Blood existed. Gazing at my dresser, I imagined the bag there, starting to formulate a plan. I was ready- in fact, I realized I was more than ready. My entire life, I had been left in the dark, unsure, scared; _frightened. _Now, I wanted answers.

My father hated me. Okay, fine. My mother was dead. Okay, fine. They had both probably gone to a camp that shouldn't exist. Okay, fine. I could control water. Okay, fine. My world no longer made sense. I just wanted to find out how this all connected. They couldn't be separate. I was a girl with a mystery, and right now, I hadn't the faintest idea of how I was going to solve that mystery.

I started formulating a plan in my mind. Tomorrow morning, at four o' clock, I would leave. Not for school, no, but for Camp Half-Blood. Three hundred dollars was enough to purchase a Greyhound ticket, and a bus ticket, and probably a taxi fare, as well as food- as much as I needed to get to Camp Half-Blood.

Long Island, here I come.

* * *

REESE'S POV

**Four days.**

I felt like an internal clock was ticking inside of me as I laid in my bed. Tick, tock, tick, tock. That's all I had; four days. A sunset and a sunrise four times, eight cycles of the sun. The blankets did little to comfort me. Saturday morning, Mom was going to drop me off about a mile from Camp Half-Blood. I would have to walk the rest on a dirt road, leading to a destiny that I didn't want.

Destiny. That was a funny word, wasn't it? I wasn't usually someone who thinks about things for a long time like Lyn, but with all of the stress suddenly crashing down on my shoulders, I'd suddenly become a philosopher. A few weeks ago, I would have laughed at the mere thought of destiny. Fate didn't exist. My family was an atheist group, though I now see why. It wouldn't do to worship Greek gods. That being said, I couldn't help but think that if I knew about the world like I did now, things would have been different. It was absurd, and somewhere in my heart, I knew that, but- I had to cling to hope that this wasn't all my fate. I didn't want to think that our lives were already decided before we were born by some cranky old ladies. The road should have forks; it shouldn't just be straight.

Hence the realization that I spend far too much time with Lyn.

I hugged the blankets closer to my body, a tear trickling out of the corner of my eye. This entire time, I hadn't really sobbed. It seemed at first that it was my choice to go to this camp, but now I wasn't so sure. Every time that Mom broke down, I found myself wanting to go to camp less and less. I still hadn't told my best friend. In fact, the only person I had told outside of my family was Will; and even they didn't know the whole truth. They thought I was going to a boarding school. I still wasn't certain how I was going to admit that to Lyn- she would know that I was lying.

It was funny how I used to be best friends with Lyn. In two weeks, all of that was taken away from me. I'm keeping secrets from her, and I know that she's keeping secrets from me. When I was younger, I used to think that 'secret' was a pretty word- a grownup word, something that big girls used. Well, I'm six feet four inches, much to my chagrin, and fourteen years old. Grown-up enough. Secret used to conjure up images of sleepovers and popcorn bowls, or pink, locked diaries, or even an elegant, painted fingernail up against lips. Now, I realized that 'secret' was an ugly thing, a word that often got you into more trouble than it did you good.

It's funny how we change. Actually, it's funny how much life is funny. One day, I'm the loyal best friend with a solid, comforting family, the next I'm blacking out and finding my destiny is to become an oracle. One day, I'm drinking apple juice boxes with Nilla Wafers, the next I'm drinking Coke with a hot dog. We change, but the changes are so tiny that we don't really notice them until they're upon us- though some are bigger; life-shattering. And while I may not enjoy talking like Miss Marilyn Jackson, she has a point in the whole philosophical thing. My life is about to change, probably permanently. I need to figure out how to think. When I get to Camp Half-Blood, Lynnie's not going to be at my side to figure my shit out.

It was with these thoughts, laying in my bed, that I closed my eyes and fell, peacefully, into a dark, dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Four. **

I laced up my Nikes, thinking of a silly children's rhyme. Though I got more sleep than I have in weeks, the number four is still whirring around my head. Tomorrow, it'll be three, but all I can think about is that stupid rhyme.

_One, two, buckle my shoe; three, four, open the door; five, six, pick-up sticks; seven, eight, lay them straight; nine, ten, a big fat hen; eleven, twelve, dig and delve; thirteen, fourteen, maids-a-courting; fifteen, sixteen, maids in the kitchen; seventeen, eighteen, maids-a-waiting; nineteen, twenty, my plate's empty. _

Trust me to remember a twenty-verse nursery rhyme but completely forget about my math homework. Only Reese Winters, ladies and gentlemen. Feast your eyes on the girl while you still can, because she was about to open the door and never come back. I almost wished I had sleep deprivation. That way, I would have had something to blame the insanity on.

I straightened, looking around me on the bus. Kids were beginning to sling their backpacks on their backs, tightening it. One girl finished double-checking that she had all of her binders. I hated kids like that. They made me feel like I was some slacker, which I am, but I didn't need to be reminded. Such is the life of Ms. Procrastinator.

I watched the kids, fascinated. In a week, they would be right here, in this very spot- unless, of course, they were sick. In a week, I would be at a kick-ass camp. Yes, I would be away from home, and terribly worried and anxious, but I would also be learning how to be an oracle. It had its pros, though it was greatly outweighed by the cons.

The doors swung open, admitting a chilly gust that swept through the bus, chilling me to the bone. I shivered, wishing I had worn something more substantial than a thin fleece bearing St. Gabriel on the right- er, yeah. Seriously, for a Catholic school, they needed better placement.

I stood, putting my messenger bag over my shoulder. The bus rocked gently as different students descended the steps, the thump of gym shoes and Sperry loafers creating a cacophony. I sighed, hunching my shoulders in resolve as I headed down the aisle and out the door. The crisp air whipped at my red hair, mussing it even more. The night sky was just beginning to show signs of life, the pale blue taking over the inky black. Hunching in my shoulders, I decided it, right there and then. I was going to tell Marilyn today about the move. I would lie, and then deny lying, because that was what I was going to have to do.

Oracles, while kick-ass, had their prices. Very, very high prices.

My shoes scuffed on the concrete sidewalk as I walked into school. Fluorescent lights flickered above me as I gazed at the other kids. It was unsettling to be diverse, to be _different_. Monday, thanks to lack of philosophical thinking, hadn't been too bad, but today was something else entirely. It was as if as soon as I had gotten dressed this morning, there had been something- different. Perceptibly.

_One, two, buckle your shoe…_

My favorite movie was _Men in Black_. Lyn always hated it; she said it was stupid and without much of a point. After all, it was the theory that secret service worked for aliens- but that was what I liked most about it. A straightforward, nonsensical sort of movie that made you forget about shit. Lyn's favorite movie, on the other hand, was _Good Will Hunting. _I never really got the deep movie until now. While the comedic movie had its perks, I was just beginning to see the upsides of philosophy.

Holy shit. I really was spending too much time with Marilyn.

I stopped at my locker, setting my rucksack down. Slowly, painfully, I began to assemble my books. Science first, then math, then language arts. In my mind, I ran through what I was going to say to Lyn when I saw her. Conversations, surprisingly enough, were hard to conjure up in the mind.

_Three, four, out the door…_

I gathered my books up into my arms and went straight into Bridge's classroom. Hopefully, I could play the pity card. The 'I really had no choice in going and something's been on lately oh wait I didn't tell you that I'm moving to Long Island' hodge-podge mess of words that I was probably going to end up saying anyway. This way, I could just say that I intended to do that. Peace of mind would be mine- or as much as I could get left, anyhow.

As I crossed through the threshold of the dimly lit classroom, I pressed a hand to my mouth in surprise. A heated debate was going on in the middle of the room, between the Brit Bitch, Will, and the Brit Bitch's brother. I thought that they were twins, though I couldn't be quite certain. Though I had more than what my karma allotted for with Brit Bitch, I hadn't actually met her brother. He was quirky, and about the same height as his ultra-skinny petite sister, who somehow managed to look gorgeous even in the midst of a heated debate. He had curly brown hair, a slightly crooked nose, and tanned, even skin, just a smidge darker than Will's Native American tone. He was fiddling with something in his hands.

_Five, six, pick-up sticks…_

My hands shook as I started to eavesdrop on their conversation. Not that it could really be called eavesdropping, though, as I was in plain sight. My six-foot four frame, insanely frizzy red hair, and generally intimidating presence tend to tip people off when I stood nearby. It really put a damper on the whole 'legitimate eavesdropping and not just taking advantage of people's stupid unawareness' thing. Not that the occurrence had ever taken place before now.

"Shove off," Will fumed. He looked angrier than I had ever seen him. For once, his usually impeccable state was rumpled. His hair was tousled, his uniform was wrinkled, and his blue eyes were bloodshot and livid. To be completely honest, he was more scary than the charmingly flustered I had witnessed before.

_Seven, eight, lay them straight…_

"Oh, for the love of gods," Selene said, putting up her hands. I really had a bone to pick with that girl. No one- and I mean _no one_- should get to look nice in a fleece. "She left. You didn't follow. None of that is my bloody fault!"

The brother smacked his face. "Really, Lena?" It was the first time that I had heard anyone call Selene by anything other than Sissy- or Brit Bitch, in my head. It almost suited her, if she got a nicer personality. "'Oh, blimey'!" he said, making air quotations. "I'm going to act like a British person when I'm not!"

"For the love of God," Selene groaned. "This is a whole different conversation, now, alright? Will's livid because he thinks that I scared Miss Stick-a-Pole up my-"

_Nine, ten, a big fat hen…_

"Morning, boys and girls," Bridge said, whirling into the room in a mess of fluttering papers, a mussed pantsuit, and sloshing gas station coffee. Selene made a very rude gesture with her finger and mouth that I didn't particularly care for, especially after she insulted Lynnie like that. I almost wished that Bridge's back wasn't turned.

"She's not what you think she is!" Will hissed in a considerably quieter tone that I was thankfully still able to hear. Bridge, on the other hand, took to humming '_Somewhere over the Rainbow'_ very loudly and very off-key. I winced perceptibly at the lack of musical taste. This woman needed a life- or, at the very least, a hearing aid.

_Eleven, twelve, dig and delve…_

"Oh? Then who is she, Will? Because from what it sounds like from your mum-" Selene started, only to be interrupted by an angry grumbling noise from her brother. I grinned. I was beginning to like this kid. "Yes, for the love of the Lord, Theo, I said mum." Theo. His name was Theo. "Get over it. Anyway, from what I heard with Piper, she got you _suspended, _Will. She's the son of Percy Jackson, who was literally banned from the demigod records, he botched up the camp so badly. Remember the dead wife? The one that died protecting her? That has disaster written all over it. Yes, I helped get her out the door. Do I regret it? No. As far as I'm concerned, I'm doing you a pretty big favour."

"Okay, you can just hear the 'o-u-r' in that word," Theo snapped. I could have sworn his freckles actually twitched. He was beginning to impersonate Bugs Bunny and his twitching noise.

_Thirteen, fourteen, maids-a-courting…_

Hmm. I discovered a new game. Match up people in the fight with _Looney Tunes _characters. Well, won't this be fun. Bugs Bunny is already taken, of course. I zeroed in on Will, trying to think of what he would be. With his disheveled appearance, he _looked _like the Tasmanian devil, but he was speaking more like Porky Pig what with all the spluttering. He _smelled _like Pepé Le Pew from what I could tell. So- that meant that he needed a new character. A mish-mosh of all the characters. Taspigpé. Yes. He was Taspigpé.

As far as the Brit Bitch went, I was at a loss. Even cartoon characters couldn't match her evilness. Except for perhaps Yosemite Sam, though he was even nicer than her. She had the attitude of Tweedy Bird- though I never really knew whether Tweedy Bird was a boy or girl. It was impossible to tell. Regardless, I thought I had her character. She was spitting a fair amount too: the Brit Bitch had just become Daffy Duck.

_Fifteen, sixteen, maids in the kitchen…_

I really wished I had sleep deprivation. I badly needed to blame my eccentricities on something, and if not sleep deprivation, then I was completely and utterly screwed. Asylum, here I come.

"Gods, I _cannot believe you_!" Will shouted. I stared at Bridge. She was actually tuning this all out. It was official. My first bell science teacher was one of the following: hung-over, in a turkey-induced coma, or deaf as a doorknob. She was just sitting at her desk, sipping that nasty coffee, a huge stain down her blouse. I actually felt kind of bad for her. Then, of course, I remembered my science report card, and felt better.

"You can't believe _me_? My life has become a drama sitcom! I would just be in London, sipping tea happily and being glad I was nowhere near my loser family-" Selene cried, a perfect little tear sliding out of her eye. When someone cries crystal, it kind of spoils the effect.

Theo's jaw dropped. "Yeah, well, we didn't miss you anyway, Sissy."

"Not now, Theo!" they both yelled at once. Theo threw up his hands in surrender as I watched on, interested in the Selene backdrop of her no longer totally perfect life. Sucks, doesn't it, Brit Bitch?

_Seventeen, eighteen, maids-a-waiting…_

"It's not my fault you don't get to take a dip in the Thames every other day!" Will said, seething. "You don't have to take it out on my life! My mom is having a _baby_. A fourth. Sibling. Do you know what that's like? On top of this horse shit?"

My jaw nearly hit the floor. Bridge was whistling now, something that sounded vaguely like that _Mary Poppins _song, chim-chim-chimeree chim chim whatever. It sounded like a bird was having an epileptic seizure. Unfortunately, I was watching the heated debate.

"Yeah. Just ruin my life," Selene said, sobbing. _Give me a break_, I thought. I knew what running lives was, and this was certainly not it. "It's not my bloody fault your mother is a _slut_!"

_Nineteen, twenty, my plate's empty._

I swore to gods, you could have heard a pin drop in that room. I widened my eyes. There were boundaries to fighting, and calling someone's mother a slut- _especially _when they were having a baby- was not to be crossed. Under any circumstances.

"_Selene_," Theo hissed, brown eyes wide. Will staggered backwards, looking as if he had just been slapped. I guess, in a way, he had. You just don't cross those lines. Selene had a hand clapped over her mouth.

"Oh my gods," I said, my voice finally finding itself. The sentence came out strangled and high-pitched. "Oh, my gods." Bridge was still humming. Still. That woman really, really, _really _needed a hearing aid.

Selene looked like she was on the verge of tears, but then hardened her exterior. "I'm sorry, but was I talking to you?" she asked, her voice trembling, contradicting her brave façade. "Since when are you allowed to listen on to private conversations?"

"You don't say that to somebody," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "And if you didn't notice the six foot four girl in the doorway, then that's your problem, and you really shouldn't be having private conversations in a public place. Regardless-… you don't call someone's mom a slut. That's crossing the line. And you know what, I'm sorry, Selene, that you don't get London and tea and crumpets anymore, but you kind of have to go with the flow. It's a sucky mantra, but you can't just go around-… having…- heated debates in classrooms at seven thirty in the morning, no matter how completely deaf the teacher! You have got to just accept life. Because it is what it is. It's not destiny, or fate, or any of that made up bullshit. Really, destiny is something made up to make you feel better about your sucky life. And life does suck. At fourteen years old, I'm a professional cynic. But that doesn't mean that you let six foot four girls "eavesdrop" on your conversation and call your cousin's mom a slut. That's about fifty lines, right there, just crossed," I said. I was panting by the end, releasing all of my pent-up anger on some girl that I barely even knew.

They stared at me. To my utter shock, I looked levelly back. Finally, the Brit Bitch found her voice. "And I suppose you know all about problems, then?"

I snorted. "You have _no idea_, you Brit Bitch." She reared back as if slapped. "And, just for the record? You're a pretty shitty cousin. Just saying." With that, books heavy in my arms, I walked over to the desk and slapped my books down on the desk, nostrils flaring.

It wasn't until students began to filter into the room, all yawning and scratching their heads, that I felt Will's blue, piercing gaze on mine, sitting right next to me. It was another funny contribution to life, I thought, that you could have a conversation without once making eye contact or speaking- through a note, passed on a wrinkled piece of loose leaf, where, written in thick, short, strokes, the words _thank you _were written. It was no calligraphy, but pencil lead had never looked more beautiful. Slowly, without thinking, I touched my own pencil tip to the paper, writing in my messy, unorthodox scrawl, **you're welcome.**

I guess I just never realized how funny life could be. And how beautiful smiles are.

It never once crossed my mind that Lyn had never walked into the classroom.

* * *

WILL'S POV

**I was exhausted.**

Instead of taking my notes in History class, I was actually making a list of things that I would like to do in the very near future. So far, the list consisted of ten things, all carefully written in my sloppy handwriting. In fact, my chicken scratch had never looked more beautiful. Sure, the paper wasn't creamy manila cardstock, but it could have been a wedding invitation, my handwriting looked so good. I had also gotten around three hours of sleep with my overactive imagination the night before.

The list was as follows:

_1). Kill Selene Valdez._

_2). Disown Selene Valdez._

_3). Push Selene Valdez off a cliff._

_4). Ask Reese for copyright privileges on 'Brit Bitch'. It's even better than Sissy._

_5). Flip the bird at Selene Valdez in the lunchroom. _

_6). Put Selene Valdez in the hospital._

_7). Murder Selene Valdez._

_8). Leave Selene Valdez marooned on a deserted island._

_9). Kiss Reese Winters._

_10). Thank Reese Winters._

I was just a little angry at my cousin. I also wished that I recorded Reese's speech so that I could say it over and over and over again to Selene. At this point, I was just in so much complete and utter shock that all I caught was Brit Bitch. And it was frigging _brilliant._ Reese Winters may not have been a mastermind like the suddenly absent Mari Jackson, but she was pretty smart, all in her own way.

"Mr. Grace," I heard a voice say above me. Slowly, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I looked up to see Brother Andrew, frowning down at me with severe creases in the folds of his skin. "Can you please- for the fourth time- tell me who Archimedes was?"

My brain stilled. I moved my hand to cover up the piece of paper, already thinking I didn't have the answer- until I did. _"Do you know who Archimedes is?" "Sure. Famous Greek engineer. He's my idol." _I cleared my throat, thanking Mari and Theo a thousand times in my head. "Yes, Brother Andrew." I found myself thinking it ironic that I was attending a Catholic school, out of nowhere. My stupid parents and 'this is the best way to fit in' philosophy. "Archimedes was a famous Greek engineer."

Andrew arched an eyebrow. "That is… shockingly enough, correct. Can anyone elaborate?" I looked for Mari's hand in the crowd, but she was still MIA. Absently, I wondered where she was. Of course, my cousin shot his hand up in the air.

"Yes, Mr. Valdez?" Andrew asked, his rich baritone voice carrying in the small, cramped classroom.

Theo nodded, mulling over his statement. "Well, you see, Archimedes was a famous Greek engineer, as Will pointed out earlier. To elaborate very briefly, he was born in the year 287 B.C. He actually came from a philosophical family; his father being Phidias. Archimedes is most well-known for his development of spheres. Legend says he was killed when a Roman soldier came up behind him, and Archimedes' final words were 'do not disturb my circles'. He was an engineer to boot, and a darn good one too. He died in 212 B.C. That's the short, compressed version."

Andrews looked taken aback. "That- was- exceptional. Well done, Theo."

Theo smiled smugly. "Thank you, brother."

_11). Slap Theo across the face._

I glared at him. He stole my short-lived moment of actually knowing the answer to a question. Those moments didn't come every day. In fact, I wasn't entirely certain that I had ever experienced one of those moments before in my life. It had been a good feeling; a smug feeling, and I had felt nice knowing something that other kids in my class didn't. Despite the new lightness in my chest, it did little do dissipate the red haze of anger and dark haze of anger. Everything seemed to be coated in shades of red and black, like a deck of deadly cards, just waiting to be dealt and played.

People sometimes said that schools weren't 'so bad' or 'completely awful'. These people, coincidentally, had either been out of school a long time or were on break, forgetting about school. School isn't cruel like on television, with people slamming kids up against lockers and beating them up or outright verbally insulting them. In fact, many of the boys in school have nothing to do with the horror. The boys usually have to do with making classes miserable with their shenanigans. The girls, on the other hand, were something else entirely. Every popular girl had a set of tools, sharp and deadly. If you said something behind your back, they wouldn't get back to you outright. It was never a direct assault. Instead, they laughed a little harder than everyone else at your embarrassments, embellished a little more, exaggerated to their friends a little more than everyone else. And, because they're popular, people believe everything. Sharp, prickly little tools, in the form of admitting subjugates, people who don't want to be on their bad side. Until now, I had never pegged my cousin as one of those girls. Yet- as soon as she stepped out of that car, very different from the tanned, freckled, curly-haired girl that she was last summer, before England, Selene was different. Against the gods, almost. And, just a few hours ago, she insulted me in the worst way possible. Gone was the laughing girl who I used to share jokes with along with her brother and my other cousin, Liam, and in her place was a snot. Sadly enough, Reese had been able to pinpoint what I was unwilling to accept. Selene was no longer little Sissy; she was a Brit bitch.

That left me tired. Not in a physical way (not that I had gotten a decent amount of sleep) but in a mental way. It was similar to how I felt with math, the numbers swirling around in my head. After I finished a particularly hard assignment in math, my head always felt compressed and a little dizzy, as if I had just squeezed in far too much information and tried to work out far too many problems. It was like that. Theo was still Theo, with his gadgets and bug-glasses he wore when he was tinkering in depth and big algebraic books that didn't make a lick of sense to me. Dom was still Dominic, the cute little kid with the curly hair, fair skin, and freckles that seemed to be amazed by absolutely everything like six year-olds often are. Uncle Leo was still Uncle Leo, with his dirty jokes and funny comments that my father would never in a million years make but laughed at anyway, even when he was exhausted after work. Aunt Calypso was still Aunt Calypso, smelling fresh, like spring, with just the tiniest hint of real vanilla- the whiff you snatch when smelling vanilla extract while baking. Sissy was no longer Selene; Brit Bitch was Selene. And, after growing up with the same girl my entire life, I deserved the right to say that sucked. Royally. I was allotted time to be drained.

I buried my face in my hands. For one of the first times in my life, my palms were sweaty and clammy- so much unlike the callused, dry-bone texture that I was used to. It showed true anxiety, which bothered me. I shouldn't have to worry about family problems _all the time_, but I did. My cousin called my mom a slut. My mom was having another baby. My father was stressing my mom and himself out with his work patterns. My uncle was driving my mom up the wall while my aunt unsuccessfully tried to rein him in. I wasn't allowed to be friends with Marilyn Jackson because of some friendship between her father and my mom- which, despite Piper's brief explanation the other night, I still didn't know much about. I felt like banging my head against the wall. Maybe if I caused some physical pain, the mental turmoil wouldn't seem so drastic.

Yeah. Sure. _That_ would work.

I gazed at the clock, blinking owlishly at the seemingly dilated digital red numbers. They read ten forty-nine. Lunch was in about an hour, and I was already starving, though for what, I honestly didn't care. At this point, I would take a disgusting, stale, long-expired granola bar that they served in the empty cabinet in the food area. It was better than nothing, I was so hungry. My stomach felt like an empty pit.

Andrew looked at the clock, his beady grey eyes cool and calculating. "Mr. Grace? If I may be so bold to inquire as to why you seem so very fixated on this clock, would you direct your attention back to me?" I repressed a groan. Ever since my suspension, all of my teachers had been particularly concentrated on my utmost participation and efforts in their stupid classes, Andrews among the worst.

I plastered on a smile. "Sorry, Brother. I hadn't realized my attention was being drawn elsewhere," I gritted out from between my teeth, earning a sharp glance from Andrews. Even though the old, dour man was supposed to be gentle and kind, he was anything but. Sour, vinegary, greyish, limp- those are more the words that describe him. Which, coincidentally enough, describe spoiled sauerkraut (Freddie had showed me on refrigerator clean-out day before we moved).

Andrews nodded, ignoring me, and I pretended to take notes. Instead, I let myself doodle, the pencil scratching against the loose, thin, translucent, lined paper easily. Pride is a subjective term, and I succumbed to it oven, but not about many things. My demigod powers and my artwork were among my only excellent traits about me- besides the fact that I was good-looking. I doodled furiously, planting the pencil down in long, jagged, heavy strokes. By the end, I had a towering t-rex bending down to devour Andrew. I was sad to say that I was proud of it.

I took a deep breath, leaning back into my chair. I tuned in to a little of Andrew's conversation. "And, as such, the Romans were conquering by the second century before Christ. Gone were the days of the eighth century, when they were dominated by the blooming civilization of Etruscans. Alexander the Great's empire had fallen, and now coming up was the time of Julius Caesar, Cleopatra, and Mark Antony- though there will be time for that later." Andrew grinned as if he was letting us in on a treat. I studied him with a smirk playing at the corners of my lips. He was teaching the history of the civilizations from which I was directly descended. Greek and Roman stories were literally what I grew up hearing. Long past were the tales of Scipio Africanus, Emperor Nero, Medusa, and the Hecatonchires. This unit was going to be a piece of cake.

As soon as I got over my impending family problems.

* * *

JENNIFER FITZPATRICK'S POV

**I stared at the empty room.**

It was not the first time that her room had been empty, but it still sent cold, clammy chills down my spine. A cool spring breeze fluttered in through the window, making the thin, gauzy, transparent curtain flutter weakly. It carried the scents of wet mulch and moist air with it, saturating the air with smells similar to a greenhouse. I registered all of this dimly, staring at the vacant room. It was illuminated eerily, but that was not what made me pause. It was the belongings. All of my life, I had been accustomed to the towering stacks of books and papers that inhabited her room, but they were gone. Instead, on her plain desk, there was a letter, written in neat, precise handwriting in black ink, on creamy cardstock. My hand shook as my eyes darted over the words over and over, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Mr. Jackson wasn't going to like this. In fact, he was going to be devastated.

I didn't pretend to know the inner workings of my boss's mind, but I was attributed with the skill of reading people. Mr. Jackson was exceptionally terrible at hiding his thoughts, as if they were written across his forehead in fluorescent light. He cared for his daughter- and protected her, more times than Marilyn could count. I knew not what my boss was; but I knew of the Mist. As a girl, I had been different from others in my family. It was like lifting off a veil, a misty, blurred thing. I was able to find chinks in the armor, peeling off a corner of the grey mist. Granna had been able to see past it as well- she had explained to me, her eyes shining with pride, that it was called the Mist. Only a few special mortals could see past it, she had told me, like Finn McCool, or Beowulf. I remembered my cheeks heating up with proudness at being described next to the mighty Finn McCool. There were not many things that I was certain of, but I did know that Mr. Jackson was involved in the world beyond the Mist. I didn't know who, or what he was, but I had seen him protecting his daughter on more than one occasion.

The first time, Marilyn had been three. A dark man in an overcoat had climbed up to the window. I didn't know what he was, or who he was; the creepy old man, but he had lifted the dark hood from his overcoat up, revealing a pale, ghastly face with a flickering tongue and raspy voice. He had made to take Marilyn, and I had screamed, a bloodcurdling, heartrending shriek of terror. Mr. Jackson had come rushing into the room, and in a few, swift, strokes, he had taken what looked like a black, ballpoint pen from his back jeans pocket, unleashing a gleaming, golden sword, and sliced the man in half. A shriek and a burst had sounded, and he had dissolved, dissolving into a puff of silvery-golden dust. Mr. Jackson had looked flustered, but he simply fingered with the sword and it turned back into a pen. He shoved it into his pocket and rushed over and grabbed Marilyn from my arms. The sobbing, hysterical toddler had clutched onto her father with wiry little arms, and Mr. Jackson had looked at me sharply.

"What did you see?" he had said, the edge of his voice razor-sharp.

I had stared at him, my mousy brown hair beginning to come undone. Silence overtook me, paralyzing my tongue; stilling my lips. Mr. Jackson had sighed in frustration, and then taken a step closer, still holding his daughter tightly. "I said, _what did you see_?"

"Uh- I- I'm not sure, sir," I had stammered, still in shock.

Mr. Jackson frowned. "Answer the question. Now, or you're fired."

I had looked at him for a moment. This wasn't my first time caring for children; but I had never been spoken to like that, or given such an ultimatum. I cleared my throat, gazing at him. "You- you- cut the- the- _thing _up with your pen- or- a sword-" I had blubbered, my voice rising up a few pitches.

He had sagged, leaning against his daughter's wall. Marilyn had cried, and he stroked her hair absentmindedly. "So it's true. You can see through the Mist," he said, his voice sounding hollow; defeated.

I had nodded. "Well, yes, but-"

Mr. Jackson had shaken his head. "I guess it works out better this way. Jennifer, never say anything out of this house of what goes on in here. This won't be the first time that this is happened, and I have to take care of a few things before she leaves." He had rubbed his face with one hand as I stared, openmouthed. "Go," he had said hoarsely. "Just- leave."

I had left the room, though I had watched from a crack in the door. Mr. Jackson had held his daughter tightly, gripping her back as she cried and cried. And I couldn't be quite sure, but it sounded like Marilyn was crying _Mommy, _and Mr. Jackson was murmuring _Marilyn, my little girl. It's alright. I've got you. Nothing is ever going to happen to you. I promise. Oh, my Marilyn. I love you. So, so much. Marilyn._ He said that softly, over and over and over again, so that my heart shattered. The next day, Mr. Jackson left with Marilyn to 'go take care of some business'. He had returned drained, late in the evening, with a sleeping Marilyn. That girl slept a whole more week. He just told me not to worry with a sad look on his face.

That was the last time that I ever saw Mr. Jackson hold his daughter and tell her that he loved her. After that, there were many more men in overcoats, but Marilyn never cried again. She just stared at the creatures, a little crease in her eyebrow. I never questioned it, though I had my suspicions. Suspicions that he had made Marilyn unable to see past the Mist. Not permanently- that girl had seen some things. The treatment was wearing off, but she and Mr. Jackson weren't on good enough terms for him to notice it. I had walked into Marilyn's room just yesterday after hearing a scream, and I saw the girl staring at the wet floor as if she had seen a ghost, her pallor the color of sour milk. And now, she had left. Much as Mr. Jackson tried to pretend that he didn't love his daughter, I knew that he did, and this would completely destroy them.

My eyes glazed over with tears as a tiny, salty drop spilled onto the paper. I read the last line, over and over and over again, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

_I have to leave now. I'm sorry. Love, Marilyn._

Very slowly, my throat closing up and opening again, I let out a thin, strident wail, like ice shattering. I heard a shout from the other end of the house, and looked outside, to the lightening, pale blue sky. Of course I just _had _to come in at eleven o' clock today instead of my usual five o' clock. Footsteps bounded up the stairs, and all I could think about was that one day, when Mr. Jackson held his daughter and told her he loved her.

Marilyn had left.

And was about to break her father's heart.


End file.
